Last year and this year have been shocking in the violence
of weather. Such terrible scenes of
destruction appear on news reports:
whole neighborhoods reduced to ash, or flood waters sweeping away homes
and historic bridges, or tornados scouring buildings away and leaving only
bare, damaged earth.
Sometimes the news seems like a strange opera, the kind where one
chorus is singing, “There’s no such thing as global warming, there have always been
weather disasters and earthquakes and hurricanes”; and the contra chorus
singing, “But look at all this terrible destruction. What shall we do?”
The following is a quote about his losses from someone named Rick Spraycar, one of many victims
of the 2012 fires in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and when I read it, it almost
seemed like poetry, terribly sad poetry that perhaps sums up the sense of so
much loss by so many:
a bunch of things my mother had
made.
It's hard to put it into words.
Everything I owned.
Memories.
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