A Mediterranean Stew

There, now we've done it,
driven Nature to distraction.
She obviously has lost track of
her elements' orderly succession
commanding their obedience in
conflicting and confounding
overlaps, her serene authority
suffering mightily in an utterly
unforeseen crisis of confidence.

Confronted by the obvious
interference of her timeless
clockwork architecture of the
Universe and our modest little
Globe, her irritation with the level
of our unspeakable arrogance
bespeaks uncertainty as weather
patterns stutter across one
another's paths in confusion.

This morning, an errant song
sparrow sang sweetly through the
fog that enveloped a morning
unlike what Nature decrees in
winter. The prevailing winds
have brought southern heat rather
than northern tempests. Bugs and
beetles, caterpillars and birds
have arrived, emerged, anew.

In the winter-weary forests,
snow and ice yet prevail with an
mean Arctic frigidity below and a
tropical breeze lofted above. The
sun's early spring radiance cooks
the gentle air to a Mediterranean
stew of dripping ice, azure sky,
ecstatic birdsong and copper sun.