Ticker for March 9, 2009

                
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March 9, 2009      March 9, 2009      March 9, 2009      March 9, 2009



1,000 is a Good Stopping Place

Today is my final and most difficult Ticker. I have accepted a
position that will take me to another time zone.

I started the Ticker 11 years ago, hoping to teach people about the
weather. Instead, the weather taught me about people.

Thank you for your enthusiasm and patience, and most of all for
sharing with me: your stories, your questions, your tips, your
kind words. They are all precious, and made the Ticker the most
rewarding element of my career.

I would also like to apologize to all of the poets I've ripped
off over the years, namely Shakespeare, Robert Frost and Stephen
Patrick Morrissey.

I would have liked to steal from Tennyson (seriously, read the Lady
of Shalott: that poor woman, forced to observe and report the world,
yet not allowed to participate in it ... tell me that is not a
Mesonet station!). But, alas, Tennyson was a genius with words,
and I am, after all, but a meteorologist with a keyboard.

Thank you for your friendship.

God Bless You.
Deke Arndt


10 O'Clock, Late April

I looked into the sky this morn
and saw my friend the Sun
I thanked him for his warmth and for
the work that he had done.

I pitied him; celestial rails
constrained his course today
Condemned to arc from east to west
while I could choose my way.

"My Sun," I asked "do you despair
because I am unchained?
For I can choose north, east, or south
while your path is ordained."

"My Son," he said, "I fly this course
reliable and true.
I drench your world with life and warmth
I cherish what I do."

"My Sun," I mocked, "but I am free
to choose a path desired!
And you are locked upon your rails
Your life must be so tired."

"My Son," he said, "just stop and think
of what my journeys hold.
These rails are set with purpose:
I see each day unfold."

"I wake each morn to see the world
in optimistic hue.
Bathed in my golden light of youth
what promise do I view!

By noon my light is strongest
and capable of much
But obstacles reveal themselves
As mountains, clouds and such

These things cast shadows on the land
and rob parts of your Earth
From drinking in my precious warmth
thus robbing my own worth

When midday turns to afternoon
my light is not so strong
I'm wiser though, in ways that clouds
arise and move along.

By seeing where they come from, and
predicting where they'll go.
I work with them to add my light
to rains they bring below.

By evening I have faded, and
I take a gentler tone
This time is spent reflecting to
take stock of what I've done.

I haven't vanquished all the clouds;
A few of them have grown.
But I find that most were harmless
And faded on their own.

The mountains that loomed angrily
over my morning hopes
Haven't changed in character, but
I've seen -- and lit -- all slopes.

And the crops are inches higher.
Some flowers have been sprung.
A leaf has opened to my light
a future has begun.

At dusk I know my journey's worth
tomorrow will be found.
I pray that someone knows my work
then sink into the ground."

"My Son," he smiled, "I hope you've learned
you're much like me, you know?
Your rails are made of time, not sky
you're fixed to them just so.

I make my journey every day
I start out every morn.
You only start it once, my Son
The day that you are born."