What I propose, therefore, is simple: it is
nothing more than to think what we are doing.
We spend much of the day in the sun
in our short sleeves, in our
sunscreen, in our sweat. It is the middle
of midwestern January, and it is perfect
hiking weather. As we trek on gravel-slush
near a gray lake, we try not to think of our mother
earth as a dying body. But it’s hard
not to, when we know it should
be snowing right now and instead
we bask in warmth and light.
So we speak of death, share a beer and watch
the sun set. By the time we drive home,
windows open wide and the breeze rushing
through our hair, the sky has settled into
night, spanning orange and purple,
no longer a visible star in sight.
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