Survival of the fittest is my declaration. And yet I can’t bear to watch the flowers die, ones that I have carefully cultivated. I retreat into the artificial shade of this house on the hottest day of my life.
But there is no ignoring, no getting away from the burning that goes on and on like punishment for a thousand sins inflicted by mankind on the natural world, the conquering of a kingdom.
The migraine still finds me cowering inside, laying waste delusions that I play no part in this destruction of a delicate balance too subtle to register with scientific instruments.
Denial is strong drink, and even now I find my lips perched on the rim of complacency, thinking that this will all be over after the next good thunderstorm.
In the meantime, those independent firecrackers can’t wait to set blaze to all our puny attempts at recreating nature’s perfect design.
For even in the fires of the setting sun, my rain falls backwards.