I wrote these lines while listening to a new song by Tony Anderson called Éclosion. I've been thinking about the “why” of suffering and am reminded of what C.S. Lewis writes when he says, “God whispers to us in our pleasure, he speaks to us in our conscience, and he shouts to us in our pain. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
This poem is short and raw. My worldview is one of great hope, but sometimes I am still left with questions. We don't always get a why. I am learning still to trust.
I lifted my mask and sniffed the air. Greenwood air. Death air. Air that would terminate me in three minutes straight if I let it.
I inhaled. Just once, but long enough to remember I wanted to be alive.
I would regret dying.
Elora would return soon.
Mask back in place, I made my fire on the Crawler us wardens were authorized to operate in the Greenwood. The vehicle crept slow enough to walk beside. Elora would climb on any minute now. I whistled to the trees in a tone north of the air filter’s whine. Like they would whistle back. Like they were alive in that condemned place.