Jet Stream
For your unseen valleys and banks,
lofted currents and sparkling waters
darting between the emerald rocks,
we dream of streams close enough
to dip our feet in and chase away
the heat of the midday sun
and see the shadows
of the willow trees nearby and
hear the sound of the
vibrant voices of the busy waters
singing hymns of nature’s splendor,
as we hear the music of the day
passing into evening’s chambers,
the only sound
amidst the nocturnal quietude,
the hush of the sleepy willows
that hang around the banks in midday,
gone to sleep until the morning comes.
But up, up, and up toward the azure skies,
where heaven is a neighborhood close by,
we find our imaginary stream rolling along
with no water or willow trees
for accompaniment,
but a jet stream starting from the unknown
and rushing to another unknown place
in the mysterious skies,
separating the hot and cold air
with all the power and might
of a tyrannical but yet benevolent giant
with the authority to rule the climate Gods,
responsible for the sweltering field laborers
and the freezing of the mountain climbers,
as the jet stream roars through the sky,
the invisible but relevant giant
blowing with all his might,
fulfilling his duties as the
conquistador of the skies.
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