There was a time when we had a chance.

A time when the natural progression of seasons followed one after another: Cold winters, hot summers, cool/warm springs and falls. A time when planted crops grew and harvests were abundant. When rain fell just enough.

That was before we all failed to together say, “Enough is enough.”

Now, gunfire in the streets, as armed bands in dilapidated pickup trucks roll in to claim a dwindling supply of fresh water in the Mojave. Meanwhile, storm-surged floodwaters burst piled sandbags in Ashville again, as besieged residents scatter like ants from a collapsed anthill.

Soon, another Nor’easter will drop crippling snow across the Bronx. & the last reserves of antibiotics are far too easy to count.

Our once-paradise earth, slipping now through our tear-stained fingers, everlost.

Who can utter the poignance of all that is constantly threatened, invaded, expended…

Sanaa hosts Prosery over at dVerse.