it's been a bit over two years since i've seen snow stick-- it's not common around here. too close to the sea, too close to the south. still, though, it pushes through every couple of years, reminding us down in the burning garden of eden that we can still shiver. it strikes my heart, like it always has, its beauty something i don't think i could ever get accustomed to. it hurts me that i'll likely never get a chance.

i've looked at the flood maps. countless times, really. hampton roads is sinking faster then most everywhere else, and the sea's sprinting to meet it like lovers at an airport. i remember the floods would get so bad in norfolk that school would be cancelled. no hurricanes, no thunderstorms, just the downpour creating tiny seas, a reminder of what's to come in a couple decades. the sun burns hotter, the storms rage heavier, the ground sinks lower. i've known this my whole life.

the snow reminds me of its own sea. a half-frozen puddle-cum-lake rests in the front yard where a pool once sat. it's like a swamp out there, the patches of green like tiny islands in the ocean of white, the trash and reeds and wood like islands and trees and ships in this swamp of sadness.

(sidenote. the neverending story was pretty bad at names, huh?)

the irony of it is far from lost on me. this sign that things aren't beyond the point of return, that we still have hope, that they've not yet fully poisoned the globe with their endless greed. that triumphant show still haunts me as though it were a death wail. in the calm skies and shining soil i see a sinking swamp. i guess that's just pessimism for you.

i hate this place, but i'd hate losing it more.

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