Summer of the Haboobs
by Elizabeth Reeke
they come first in silence,
an eerie yellow haze on the horizon
gathering before the big winds,
whipping and bending and threatening even the usually stalwart palms.
and then, that onslaught of infernal yellow dust blowing through,
burning the eyes, the throat, the lungs,
settling on walks, cars, pools, porches, seeping into every crack
& crevice & cranny.
we know of the “big winds” from distant lands,
something we read about in Arabia, arid stretches of the Far East,
the Australian outback,
but not here in our own backyard;
here in arizona, new mexico,
so much pavement, so much concrete, so many people,
leaving rampaging winds to sweep across draught-parched fields,
sand swirling upwards in billowing clouds,
and then, finally, that dense silence that follows.
and nature reminds us once again,
she is more than pretty flowers and birdsong in the springtime,
greater than our own small existence,
seemingly oblivious to us,
our own self-centered desires; how ugly they become.
is there something to learn from these wild winds and choking dust?
signs that show us more care is called for,
more awareness of creating balance and harmony with our earth,
more awareness of the footprints we are leaving?
Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Reeke.