Springtime never felt like it would
be the season in which the world would end. There’s too much hope in spring. It
could have occurred in deep winter and no one would question a thing. People
are more than ready for the apocalypse after fulfilling our yearly
responsibilities as barely sentient consumers. Droning on and about, computing
our worth through envious comparisons. Winter opening up before us with a wisp
of a horizon and our wits whisker thin.
Disappointment, true to nature, never
comes when it should.
Spring wandered in with typical mixed emotions raining
and then shining upon us. Squirrels fretting about looking for acorns they
buried months ago and have long since lost. The depth of what was coming for us
was lost on most. It is one thing to see a stone fountain on the grounds of a
plush English estate but to know the water contained can fully emerge a grown
man is lost on those who’ve never been close enough to fear slipping in. We
have all lost our grasp and are sinking to the bottom, unguided children,
carefree and carelessly losing sight of the sun, that glaring orange warning
rising high above us.
This is how we got here…
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