Dear Climate,
When you quiet humanity with your revenge, I wonder if the city I grew up in will look the same, smell the same. Will purple flowers still bloom in the yard next to ours every April? When you feel feverish and unsteady, Climate, I hope that there are still solemn winter sunsets, where the snow glows pink and yellow and purple from the colors of the sky. I share blame for your sick pallor; I can’t help feeling angry… that my children and yours will carry human’s mistake. I hope you have snow days left to give. I hope that within the smog, there are still rainbows. I am sorry, Climate, that we were shortsighted and greedy. But there is a time, later, when we will be gone, and you will find balance again.
Lily
