“The earth is on fire” used to be a metaphor.
Something to dramatize, to clarify, something to make things real in the way we understand realness. Now, it’s just truth. Now, the forests burn, the fields burn, the books burn, the waters boil and the plants die and the heat chokes up our perfect, invincible, powerful bodies and there’s no going back.
There’s no going back.
There’s slowing, and there’s adapting, if we care enough to do that. But the fire is here to stay.
“Metaphorically speaking,” you prompt hesitantly. And my first response is to laugh.
“You’re a writer,” I say. “So you tell me.”