World headed for irreversible climate change in five years, IEA warns
I’ve been thinking lately about this poem.
Any moment, preparing this meal,
we could be gas thirty thousand
feet in the air soon
to fall out poisonous on leaf,
frond and fur. Everything
in sight would cease.
And still we cook,
putting a thousand cherished
dreams on the table, to nourish
and reassure those close and dear.
In this act of cooking, I bid farewell.
Always I insisted you alone were to blame.
This last instant my eyes open
and I regard you with all
the tenderness and forgiveness
I withheld for so long.
With no future
we have nothing
to fight about.
-by Ed Espe Brown, from The Tassajara Recipe Book
Love you.
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“With no future we have nothing to fight about.” Damn.