A Poem: Weather Systems

We can only make peace within ourselves.
Peace, the living room we reside in,
welcome others,
step forth trailing clouds.

Our literal home, only a series of rooms,
a roof, a floor, windows.
We interact with each other as weather systems
let in from out of doors,

and create the atmosphere
with what we’ve made important.
That we are siblings, daughters, sons,
life partners,

these are just the facts as they appear,
when the truth is
we are a blizzard rattling the panes,
or a wind that chills the floorboards,

and we need not open doors
for gusts of rain.

And we are both the mainsails
and the breezes that set direction;

the candle on the windowsill
and the person flapping by
shuddering the wallboards,
and wavering its flame.

And we are the fire and its heat,
the essence of rose from candlewax
or flowers in a vase,
the warmth of a tucked in blanket over knees.

We cannot underestimate our interactions.
How we choose what to bring
and what to leave
in the holy chamber of another’s presence.

We are each other’s greatest influencers,
the givers of oxygen
and its removers.
We are the forecasters that set the scene.

In rain and sun,
wind or frost,
or the benign, long length of evening
when peace has won.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
March 2022

‘Matter is spirit moving slowly enough to be seen.’
—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin