Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Too Fast for Me

Can we get fresh hypotheses,
Possibly falsifiable,
That could humble the big questions
By revealing their origins
In trivial conversations?

Let's say language itself evolved
First to talk about the weather.
A guy walks up to me today
And asks me to concur it's cold.
Without this wisdom he's speechless.

I play along, as usual.
Encouraged, his wisdom deepens.
"They say Utah has four seasons,
But two of them don't last a week."
He chuckles, strolling beside me,

Convivial now, a colleague,
A professor, a PhD.
I nod, but look at the mountains,
Where winter's already turned white,
And think how spring climbs the canyons,

Spreading up from the lake's wetlands
To the soft, alluvial hills,
Weeks later reaching the south face
Of each of the mountains' kneecaps,
Before its tendrils climb their falls,

The whole process taking four months,
Ending in July's alpine blooms,
And then how it all reverses,
The long mountain autumn slipping
Month by month to the valley's feet.

I decide to add my wisdom,
Blurting out the observation,
"Well, but it's a different season
That ends up being the shortest,
Every given elevation."

He stops walking to look at me.
Perhaps he's evaluating
My face for signs of Asberger's.
Finally, he shrugs. "All I know
Is, it gets cold too fast for me."

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