|Image source: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/these-stunning-satellite-images-turn-earth-into-art-180958808/|
“Are you OK? Should I come with you?”
The sun poured over the top of the drawn blinds,
illuminating fine dust particles and
sparkling airborne pollen,
signaling waking birds to sing
into the blue before breakfast.
There are many reasons why they sing;
to woo a mate,
to announce an intruder,
to prove they exist.
“This is just a formality. To get a referral.
You don’t need to come along unless you want to.”
I smile into the sun-glare,
unable to see her worried expression,
trying to ease her concerns,
stumbling to dress myself on memory alone.
Her voice alternated between hard and soft,
trying to become both my bedrock and respite.
“You got this. I’m here if you need me.”
I am fifteen-minutes late,
but she will see me anyway.
I eschew the waiting room’s periodical graveyard
for my handheld electronic window to the world.
I come across a satellite photo of the Bering sea;
a sea of green, blue, aqua. It seems that
algae bloom inhales carbon,
exhaling oxygen until they end their lifecycle,
falling from view to the bottom,
falling from view
taking their carbon jewels with them.
Their unconscious act of breathing
heals the planet for us to some degree,
counteracting some of our
climate change damage.
It’s all very simple and beautifully complex,
their cursive emerald tendrils curling, sprawling.
“So what brings you here today,” she asks
Algae is not sentient.
There is no premeditation
to their olive-drab actions;
no thought or strategy in
making the planet more suitable for us.
“I… uhm… Well, I…”
My voice trails off,
falling from view.
Algae doesn’t know what it doesn’t know.
Algae exists for its own sake;
it lacks the ability
to question the nature
of its existence.
I sometimes envy algae.
“I need to talk to somebody.”