Sunday, May 29, 2022

A Spring Poem: Entropy

The scientist casually,
far too casually, 
brushes a white coffee mug
off his desk. It shatters and 
a rain of fragments spill on the floor.
Entropy, the scientist explains 
degrees of disorder;
everything dissolves into nothing
at random, over and over again.

What is whole becomes broken,
a one-way process repeated
every day, in every sense of time; 
our earth wobbles as it circles the sun. 
Even the universe expands and expands 
and curls outward
and destroys itself.

Despite my careful efforts
to create order,
only the seasons remain, 
winter, a dusting of snow that melts into spring,
a cycle of fragile flowers that bud 
as green sprigs open into leaves.

We walk slowly along a gravel path 
in a small lilac garden, 
shades of purple and white;
a brisk spring wind hints at winters past
and winters to come.
Entropy, I repeat,
my friend is sick. I stare
at the flowers and wonder
who will come to see the lilacs next spring
or the year after that?

Lilacs at Manito Park (May 2022)

Even so, winter seems to linger longer this year, as we all face unexpected challenges on top of all else that grabs the headlines. Today, a dear friend is sick. My thoughts are hopeful, yet realistic, for we are now in that decade when we must learn new lessons about life that begins and ends.

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