The Parable of the Coffee

        Josh lives.  Josh walks.  Josh breathes.  Josh speaks. 

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, in this bitter winter, is global warming not exposed as a hoax?”

Josh spoke thus:

One year in March, a scientist at the South Pole watched that winter’s only sunset.

His companion, a helicopter pilot, said to him, “Good night.”

The scientist wished the helicopter pilot a good night, then turned to step inside.

That same year in September, the scientist watched that winter’s only sunrise.

His companion, the helicopter pilot, said to him, “Good morning.”

The scientist wished the helicopter pilot a good morning, then turned to step inside.

Neither the scientist nor the pilot commented on their momentary vertigo at the sudden end of constant dark.

Neither the scientist nor the pilot made note of the fact that neither was made dizzy by standing on the axis of the spinning globe.

Neither the scientist nor the pilot motioned at the sky to indicate the massive magnetic bands born of the churning molten iron core of the planet, as if to say, “But for the grace of that gigantic shield the solar winds would pop us like corn.”

Neither commented on the enormous convection of water, cloud and sky that churned the open seas, that flattened forests, that lowered mountains and raised ice shelves, a convection set in motion by a wobble in the world.

Neither made note of the closeness of the moon that had commanded their heaven for three months.  Neither noted the regularity of waxing and waning, a syncopation out of time with the stars it dwarfed, with the sun it reflected, with the earth it courted.

Neither admitted it was the cycle of the moon they would miss most.  Dreaming was easier in a lunar cycle.  And a world of constant night demanded dreaming.

Neither said that science and soul held hands like cautious lovers when stars and Antarctic peaks brushed against each other on the near horizon.

They did not mention that lips chapped instantly in the antipodean winter.  They did not brush each other’s cheek and feel the shyness of unprotected capillaries.  They did not press their tongues against slightly parted teeth to feel the sudden sharp ingress of spring.

The scientist stepped inside, the helicopter pilot followed.

The helicopter pilot asked, “Is there any of that Brazilian coffee left?”