Tobermory waiting
Tobermory; waiting for the wind to come and then (hopefully) go so we can leave the Bay and head Small Isles-ward. Waiting isn’t bad though – a chance to chat, eat, chat some more. Is climate change happening? Is it man-made? Maybe it doesn’t matter if it is or it isn’t; if people’s lives are affected economically, socially, environmentally, then shouldn’t we at least find out what’s happening and do something about it?
Can it be lived with?
Stopped?
Or even made the most of?
Is capitalism to blame?
Or will it save us all?
New words like “adaptation” become a focus for my thoughts. Whether man made or not, if our climate is changing so much and so fast that the weather to come means the basics of life – water, a tolerable temperature, daily food – will be a constant worry, then maybe we should accept there’s only so much we can do to re-capture the comfort of the past, and instead plan for a new kind of future.
In this, perhaps the role of a scientist is clear; to research, review, report and act. But what’s the artist’s role? To communicate what’s happening, what might happen, or what we feel or think about it – yes, certainly. But when crops fail, or the sea your family have fished for generations is empty, what use is that eloquent, artful exchange? They might have told you in verse, image or movement that this was coming, or even that it’s already happening, but their creativity won’t fill your belly or bank account.
So here we sit on the sea, waiting for the elements to do their worst and then pass by. And I’m thinking, will the answer to the “why” that people ask when they hear of the Scottish Island journey we’re making become clearer by the time I reach home?
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