The birds are flying south
Global warming hits in the fall, end of October and nearing 70 degrees in Berlin. Leaves sit on the floor, damp, waiting to be washed away by the swing of winter that comes in strong, with a force, unapologetically and without warning. this time though, winter comes late, or doesn’t come at all. Hard to enjoy the warm air when you know the reason: The earth is heating up at its core. People are dying, cities are burning, ice burgs in the south pole are melting, or something like that. Maybe instead of fantasising about the doom of the planet I can breathe - in and out - and enjoy the weather against all odds, and stay in the bath a little longer, till my fingers and toes are wrinkly and soft and the salt has drained any energy that isn’t mine that i don’t need, out of me, out of my skin and pores. And then i am left soft like a newborn baby, covered in mucus and film from my first home, a protection, a shield, a covering straight from God, which is the Uterus, which is the Woman, which is me.