"Weather"

An original poem release tackling fear, reason, and the complexities of life's storms, by Rebecca Day

As promised, I’m kicking off the weekend by debuting an original work of mine. For the next few weeks, each Friday I’ll be sending out a new release. From music to poetry, these releases lead up to the debut of my band’s latest studio-produced single, “Burn Out This Flame.” That premieres soon. For now, I get things started with “Weather,” plus a little context below before the poem gets underway.

Hannibal, a famous Carthaginian military commander from antiquity leads his men through a storm across the Alps. Artwork by Joseph Mallord William Turner (1812).

My 14-year-old schnauzer Rusty has long been scared of thunderstorms. While living in an apartment, this proved to be particularly troublesome because Floridian summer weather is quite unpredictable. Many times over those years, I found myself running behind him, the tautness of the leash pushed to its limits due to him making a break for it back to the apartment at the first sound of thunder.

His anxiety was so bad, I often had to sit with him in our wash room until the storm passed. With how fast life moves, suddenly I had twenty to thirty minutes of unanticipated stoppage. And as you can probably relate, all kinds of thoughts, like the storm, would come flooding my way.

His penchant for overreaction rubbed off on me eventually. Even now, the first boom of thunder causes me to start looking for him to make sure he’s okay (he’s older now, so his hearing isn’t what it used to be).

And in true philosopher form, this chain of reactive events got me thinking. While knowing when to seek shelter due to inclement weather is important for survival, this mentality tends to overflow into other areas of life, where playing it safe might actually do more harm than good.

In Ancient Greece, life’s storms were retold many times over in myths, stories, and lectures with honesty and detailed imagery. Given that courage was an important virtue in so many Greek philosophies, many were taught to run towards the storm, not away from it. And because they were taught this by those older than them who had also fought their fair share of storms, younger generations were equipped to handle life’s unpredictable, thunderous situations far better I’d argue than today’s youth.

All of this and more goes into my poem, “Weather.” It’s an ode to Reason at its core, and Aristotle’s Law of Identity (A is A). It also offers a gentle message that we must never lead a life based on fear, but boldly live one based on virtue. Written during a time of my life that was more topsy-turvy than centered, I hope it can be a message of comfort to you if you are also experiencing hardship, and a reminder that sometimes, the storm is the way.

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Weather

I watch the radar to avoid the storm.
The storm’s roving eye finds, 

Watches me.

Lightning startles my skin.
Startles my dog because he doesn’t know
What it is.

To him, it doesn’t bear a name.
Only bears fear.

He doesn’t know it’s rooted in science.
Born from nature.
First birthing of unbridled power.

It streaks down from the sky, over us outside.
Sparks me back into the current of present occurrence.

Sparks him to run into the wash room and hide.

I go with him,
Missing how the storm lights up the living room
As rain drowns surrounding swamp.

It’s peaceful inside this small room.

No windows.

One unplanned attack sends us into retreat.

Satellites didn’t catch it in time.

We had no warning.

Thoughts you thought you rinsed
Spin around you
In rooms without windows.

Why isn’t my career, my body, what I want it to be?

Why am I still in the small room with no windows
Even when I am not?

If uncareful, the storm takes you away with it.

I haven’t been careful.

I haven’t needed to be until now.

I thought the way you avoid the small room with no windows
Was to avoid the storm.

I didn’t listen to those writing stories before me.

I forgot how they escaped the room.

Or maybe I’m just afraid to remember.

Did they survive?

Right now, we survive.

Surviving is not supposed to be
The point of survival.

But here I am,
With my dog,
In a small room with no windows
Pretending the roll of thunder
Isn’t rattling our tails
Into submission.

Animals surviving on instinct.

When the sky booms above,
We run.

We don’t have our own reason.

Thunder substitutes reason,
Inducing fear.

Radar orbits above reason,
Striking fallen saucers replacing precision of
God’s swirling storms in human eyes.

Eye to eye.

It is telling, how I convince myself,
It is safer this way.

by Rebecca Day

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The “Rebecca Day Originals Collection” page is officially live and I’m populating it more everyday. Check out my band The Crazy Daysies, and some of our most popular work. We will be releasing our latest single, ‘Burn Out This Flame,’ right here exclusively on Substack, before anywhere else!