Earth's desperation has eased, partially lifted, as humans halt their activity when it's too late. They should have let her be.
Her furry inhabitants take careful strides into the places where humans used to be. They search for a blade of grass among an unrecognizable array of human doing.
Earth's Moon sees her more clearly now, and is warmly reminded of her powerful beauty. Rivers roaring, land masses shifting, night's darkness absorbed into her, day's light converted into life. She is water, wind, and sand, and she is eternal.
Poor Moon, so unaware, so innocent. The cycle of billions of years is now spiralling off it's path, after a short two-century stint of humans. And they will be back. No, Moon, there’s more going on than you can see from afar.
Now, she is delicate. She has been harvested, trampled, robbed, and burned. She has been worn thin by the weight of humans. She is well beyond her human capacity, and they don’t stop procreating.
She cries quietly as she carries the human suffering all over her scarred face. She knows it cannot be reversed. Not for her, not for them.
All the warning signs had been ignored. The humans didn't cherish what they needed for their survival. Now her regions have become twisted, mutated and empty. She is no longer in her natural rhythm. Easily, her wounds can be observed, but the humans carry on.
It was inevitable, she thinks, because she couldn't protect herself.
She has seen it all, and felt it all. She has ancient vulnerability. Her oppressors have just begun to recognize one of theirs. The darkness of their fear replaces the exhaust fumes.
"The humans cannot breathe," she tells her Moon.The humans now have something in common with her. Their systems are being attacked with no warning and no predictability. The lungs, the kidneys, even the blood. The coal, the trees, even the air. It's all too familiar to her.
She wonders if there will be a new sense of connectedness between them, among the surviving humans. Like the early human days. It could be us against the, well, not world. It could be us against the..greed! Reciprocal care and consideration is our only hope.
In the still streets of this chaotic carnage, the robins come. They flock to areas where there are still places to build their homes. They remind the walking humans that there is still simplicity. There is still stable living.
The robins seem fearless. Earth and humans both grasp for hope. None of them seem to have any control right now. But the robins don't seem to mind.
They live simply, and need only to feed themselves. They do not hunger for power or gold.
But power is in the wind and gold is in the sunshine. All the goodness runs through Earth's veins and arteries, rivers and lakes. Doesn't every being know that?
"Cherished Earth, this is my white flag, this is my wailing, my begging for mercy, my apology, and my plea for restoration. I am ready to take responsibility," thinks a human, dying alone on a ventilator.
"Calm now," she says, "Have peace. I suffer like you, and with you. And I am still fighting to live, and so can you. In life and in death, I will give you what I have, and I will take you into what's left of me. This is our destiny. Unconditionally, I love you; you are mine, and I am yours."
“Please love me too.”
photo cred: The New York Times
