O, Winter.

The sun blistetered upon my exposed neck and forearms as I trudged to my shuttle in the early afternoon. Oh sun, please surrender behind a cloud for a moment so us poor earthlings can cease simmering. If we had known our years of carbon footprints and toxoic pollution would have caused rays such as these, would we have surrendered long ago? Oh Mother Earth, what are we to do now? How can you forgive us for our sins?

I have these reoccuring thoughts every time I step out of those airtight buildings with constant hydro-air conditioning and cooling jets at every entrance. We brought this on ourselves, yet we see no error. We do not change. We stand stagnant in selfishness. The higher-ups have nothing to offer us anymore. We are on an inevitable track following a carrot on a stick.

But there are no clouds, there is no shade, and there will be no winter. The sun is our last resource we haven't destroyed and we wish it away. Museums hold artifacts of grass and even, if you can believe, roots of what they call an Oak tree. How did this world look before the Industrialists took over? The legends say that the ones who nurtured the planet, what they call agriculturists, were enemies of the Industrialists. They would try to enforce a "Green Deal" and believed in holistitic medicine rather than science. Even now they are scoffed at. But when I feel that everlasting heat on my face, I don't feel proud of our modern society, I don't feel the desire to labour away at the new technologies, I feel ashamed. I am ashamed at what we have become. We do not own this Earth no matter how much we want to. She has been here long before us, and she will be here long after us. This sun will kill us. We have killed it's friends. And it wants revenge. O winter that never comes, you were our last hope.