The landscape is carved from the regrets of our ancestors. Deep wounds scar the earth, rivers of heat churn and spew. Humidity clings like a second skin.
I wonder what cold feels like. My grandfather described it as a sharp, biting kiss on the tip of your nose. An ache that shivered the very marrow of your bones. He says that once Jack Frost had cast his spell, the whole world transformed into a glittering stark white.
I wonder what the green in nature looked like. Whether it was different to the foul, dull sludge that has become our lakes and ponds. Apparently it was glimmering. Glimmering and gorgeous and oh-so-green. Lush and inviting. Soft and whispering. Whispering with the hush of the thousands of living creatures.
I wonder what a breath of clean air would feel like. Your lungs opening and enveloping the gift of life. Breaths at the seaside; full of salt and mirth. A breath on a mountain; scented with pine and wood.
I wonder if anything will ever change because of these thoughts. If my sons and daughters could turn back the passage of time, undo our grievous mistakes, fold the earth back into one.