Forever is not Forever

Ok, it’s a funny feeling looking into the maw of an oncoming hurricane, not knowing how angry it will be and not knowing exactly where it will go, how strong it will be, how fast it will move, and how many tornado events will be folded into its passage as its 100 miles per hour winds shake your house. You analyze your situation and there are only two options. Take to the roads with a thousand other cars and trucks and seek escape from the hurricane weather through either distance or sanctuary in a nearby public building; or rely on the structure and location of your home to provide protection from the storm. We chose to stay home despite the exceedingly strong demands by authorities and TV weather experts to leave immediately. It was not a picnic. The winds of Milton raged, water rose, electricity died, and windows shook. But we were fortunate and escaped the intrusion of Milton into our home.

But back-to-back hurricanes, even if serious damage is avoided, is a situations that demand the cessation of activities not associated with writing or other hobbies. No, there are blown-down banana trees to be cut up and tossed out and seemingly innumerable other problems that must be resolved. Some day I’ll get back to writing, there’s a great deal of that just waiting for attention. But I will add a sort of poem that I wrote long ago when we lived and worked in the Florida Keys. I was able to experience the coral reefs of the Keys when they were at least a shadow of the magnificent ecology of tropical coral reefs that surrounded the Florida Keys for thousands of years.

?

?Forever is not Forever

?(written around 2016, before the move from the Keys)

It was the year 1511. The old Calusa Indian sat on the white sand beach of Lower Matecumbe Key, watching his grandchildren play in the clear sparkling waters at the island's edge. Knowing that his remaining years were limited, he contemplated his world, the Florida Keys. His life had been one with the tropical sea and the subtle seasons of these islands; he had never wanted for sustenance or beauty. As the world had been for his ancestors, it was for him, and for those who would follow him. He knew that the spirits of the earth and sea would forever provide for the needs of his people.

He thought of what he knew about his world.

?The innumerable queen conch of the nearby grass beds, they were Forever.

The huge turtles that crawled on the beaches and laid their eggs, Forever would they do so.

The giant groupers hiding in the rocks and reefs, Forever.

The spiny lobsters found everywhere from bay to reef, Forever.

The sea urchins that live in the rocks and reefs and buried themselves in the grass beds, Forever.

The Caribbean monk seal, found on sandy beaches and rocky shores, they ranged to every corner of his world, Forever.

The great living coral reefs, the foundation of his world, the corals that protected the islands during storms and made homes for fish and other creatures of amazing form and color, They were Forever.

He thought that this was how it was, this is how it is, and this is how it would be, Forever. He knew that when his days were done, he would still be a part of his world and his world was, Forever. And he was content.

Five hundred years later I sit where perhaps he sat so long ago. My grandchildren play in the waters that sparkle just as brightly but are filled with the effluent of a civilization unimaginable not so very long ago. My thoughts also wander as my days wind down, as did his. I also love these islands, but I am not content. I know that Forever, is not forever.

Martin Moe