October Storm - A Poem

Introduction

Not long ago New England (and some other regions) was shocked to have a history-making Winter storm tear through the region while the colorful Autumn foliage, for which the region is often known, remained on the trees. This storm, called a "Nor'easter" but also referred to as a "Winter hurricane" would have been damaging even if it had occurred in Winter after the leaves had fallen from the trees. What made it more damaging was the fact that it arrived in the "wrong" season, when the weight of the already water-loaded snow (compared to mud and wet concrete) combined with wet leaves, soaked ground, overloaded branches and high winds; combined to make a particularly damaging (and history-making) storm.

While the clocks and calendars to which we so often adhere may have their roots in natural phenomena, Nature, herself, doesn't always go by clocks or calendars. Most of us are more than well aware of this fact, but because Nature is so often amazingly consistent when it comes to timing or any number of things, we can come to expect a certain amount of predictability, even within what we know will always be unpredictable. Most of the time, regardless of where we live, we find our ways over co-existing with Nature fairly well. We prepare. We plan. We try to be ready even when we know there is only so much we can do to protect ourselves against what we have come to view as "Nature's wrath".

Perhaps those of us who live, or have lived, where seasons change as dramatically as they change in New England approach life with a more acute awareness of changing seasons. We often compare times of one's life with seasons. The idea that there is a time for everything has been, as far I can guess, around since the "beginning of time".

So, we often live our lives in both appreciation and awe of Nature, while also keeping very much in mind two things: 1) that we must be prepared for those times when Nature sends us some of her most violent storms, and 2) that the most destructive storms are usually those strike regions not expecting them or in seasons/conditions which, by themselves, mean the potential damages will be magnified.

We human beings (and products of Nature ourselves) often have an amazing ability to survive storms, just the way so many trees do. Until a storm ends, who or what will survive remains unknown to us. We may look to the trees that are old enough to have survived many, many, storms for reassurance. We may find our reassurance in keeping in mind that with youth usually comes vibrance and resilience. At the same time, we often know that there is frailty in both age and youth, but also that sometimes who or what survives can be a matter of little more than luck.
We often don't see how many branches those older trees have lost as they've stood strong through so many storms; and we often never get to see the youngest of saplings grow tall and strong.

Of course, not all storms that strike in our lives are of the meteorological-event variety. There are life-storms, which can tear through a life in ways not always so easy to see as storms of the meteorological variety.

There is no reassurance when a storm is on the way or when we're in the midst of one. There is often only waiting for the winds to die down and the skies to clear so that we can assess damages. If we're lucky the only storms that will strike in any given season will be those that strike in the season for which they are known.

Where I live, October is a peaceful month. The season for hurricanes and tornadoes is over. The season for the most bitter and cold of storms remains, for the most part, months away. There are not supposed to be snow storms and damaging winds in October, and there usually aren't. Still, once in awhile what shouldn't happen does happen, and we are left to think about things like storms, resilience, seasons and snow on the colors of Autumn.

That storm I've mentioned turned out to be the inspiration for this poem, which I've written in the calm of a beautiful and sunny, 60-degree, November day; as I've reflected on the consequences to hearts, dreams, and sometimes spirits, that can result when life's storms are too overpowering or too numerous too soon in a young person's life; but also about any of life's storms that occur in a season in which they wouldn't otherwise be expected. This poem is about broken branches.

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It came too soon -a storm of colder season;
tearing through the fiery Autumn branches,
which, weighed down, beneath the heavy snow
would groan and ache before they'd break,
then shake the silence of the night
with thunderous crashes or unrelenting snaps and cracks;
ominous, and proof there was no safety
and no sleeping
in this night,
or in this season known for beauty
and ushered in with warmth and splendor

Beneath the weight of broken clocks and calendars;
and intermingled with the vibrant reds and golds,
and greens still fresh from Summer;
torn from where they once belonged,
and whispered Summer's softer songs,
fractured branches strewn in shock
lay on the ground -
scattered litter, roadblocks, burdens.
And in their wake and former places,
voids and breaks and emptiness -
reminders of Winters
that come too soon.

We are told to have no sorrow.
Nature gives us back tomorrow.
One day the voids and emptiness
will be replaced with Summer green.
Broken branches will be cleared,
roadblocks lifted; Spring, returned.
Where those broken branches grew
will be filled in with something new.
But when Winter's storms won't wait
and the calm of Autumn's broken;
there will be no real returning to
the oranges, golds, and reds of Autumn;
nor of those branches once in splendor,
nor to the way that Autumn should have been.