Global Warming
This
year, different from others
in
the long progression
of
Laurentian summers
we
store in memory
to
carry us through winter,
bodies
of water shrink,
shorelines
reveal themselves.
This
year, the hottest summer on record,
the
corn stands stunted;
cucumbers
are bitter
for
lack of water.
This
year, no one is grateful
for
long, dry days for haying,
the
early ripening of crops,
the
extraordinary sweetness of wild berries,
the
prolonged harvest
of
what normally we treasure
because
of the brevity
of
its season.
Day
after day, the sky,
neither
blue nor white,
but
not quite gray,
looks
bleached.
The
Rouge,
always
shallow and sedate,
recedes
by feet.
Sandbars
shape
as it
evaporates.
Parched,
the
leaves fall early,
lie
curling
inches
deep
on
the path to the lake.
Brittle,
they
crackle under our feet
as we
walk towards water,
for
the first time in memory,
swim
late in September.
Much
farther north,
they
say: the sun
burns hotter than it did.
Here,
we pick winter apples
in
summer heat, knowing
they
won’t keep.
Sharon H. Nelson writes about food, spiritual
hunger, and cultural identity. She cooks and gardens in Montreal. ... about Sharon. H. Nelson
