SHOMAL

On the northern side of my block

There was the never-ending sea.

But my small studio

Faced south

So my home

Caught the sun most of the day,

Unless wayward rain

And mazes of mist

Blew in from the steppes

And crossed the waters.

Neatly paved streets -

A realm of shiny vehicles

And well-dressed pedestrians -

Ribboned below me.

Smaller buildings were freshly painted,

Trickling wet and glossy after a storm.

Skyscrapers appeared

To be built of glass

And not much else.

At night I could look

Through any window

And see families gathering for meals,

Children busy with computers

And video games.

Later the lights would dim.

People retired to sleep away

The fatigue of each unknowable day,

And, perhaps, to trade in love.

In the morning they rose again,

Well after the sun materialised,

And set off to exchange mysteries.

Traffic always moved

With an erratic disorder

That seemed so random

But must have involved remote control

By an all-seeing manager.

Beyond the residences

And the roads

The land began to rise,

Gently at first,

Towards the mountains.

On the lower slopes there were farms.

Men and machines kept to routines

While workers wielded a shovel;

All was dispatched in giant rigs

With wheels at least as big

As a poor man’s hovel.

And the cycles of husbandry

Changed the colours of the fields

Day by day and week by week.

Swathes of cream and yellow

Gave way to pale weeds,

Then to deep brown

As the ground was ploughed.

There were rows and rows of small trees

Dotted with technicolour bounties,

Either ready and ripe,

Or still no more than blossoms.

Above the orchards

Nature’s flora began

With stately oaks, beech and chestnut,

Everchanging,

Giving ground to junipers,

Evergreen,

As the forests gained altitude.

It was magnificent artwork –

Every imaginable shade of cool green,

And the occasional arc of crimson,

With scattered splatters of gold,

And shimmers of vermillion.

At the top the mountains towered,

Peaks barely lower than the sky.

Snowy summits

And bulky black blocks in the light

Becoming dusky silhouettes

When the sun proclaims the night.