“ We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer’s wreckage. We will welcome summer’s ghost.” – Henry Rollins
It was on the news again, a reminder that these high summer nights were the best time to see nature’s own fireworks display glancing off the earth’s atmosphere. Deep in a night closer to dawn, I stood in front of the open sliding glass doors nine floors up to catch the show. There was a beautiful temperate breeze cooling my skin and when I looked up into the dark sky, I could see the sparkle of stars and knew I might be in luck to see the Perseids meteor shower once again as the earth made its way through the ancient dust of meteors long gone. As I waited, it felt like I could hear the velvet night breathing, the only noise, a soft cooing from a sleepy pigeon and the odd raucous call of a gull. No one else seemed to be watching, even though a few windows were lamp-lit but not enough to obscure the two bright pulses of light streaking across the sky, the only ones I spied before heading back to bed.
It’s worth some interrupted sleep to marvel at something bigger than ourselves, a mystical distraction from the unravelling of the world taking place on our screens and sometimes just outside our doors. Each time we turn on our TV or computer, we are met with the sight of protesters from all four corners of the globe, unimaginable sorrow and tales that echo sagas from the world of Lord Of The Rings. Was the world always this way, unravelling at the speed of light that captures the innocent, monetizes the wild beauty of nature and dumbs down the miracle of life into swathes of data to be mined by others whose unravelling has reached a peak I hope never to climb?
Each brand new day gives us a chance to capture the frayed edges of this unravelling, hopefully binding them into some kind of wholeness, stopping the momentum just for a moment, helping all to imagine a different world and new horizons before the unravelling stops cold because we’ve all run out of time.