We  worry  about   the  weather,   and  whether  or  not  we 
can make  a difference,  sorting our  recycling in  the  dark.
The   floods   have   become   so   commonplace   that   they
don’t  make  the  news  unless  a  bus  is  swept  away  or  a
fireman   rescues   a   dog,     because   no   one   can   resist 
animals  or  minor  heroics.   We  stopped  driving  so  long
ago  that  we can’t  remember  where we  left  the car,  and
we walk  to work,   the commute  lasting days,   sleeping in
farm  buildings  or  under  the  stars,   fighting  nightmares
of   having   left   the   cooker   on,    and   avoiding   human
contact    wherever    possible.     When    the    sun    comes, 
we smear ourselves in mud and leaves. There are rumours
of   refugees   walking  across   seas   rammed  with  plastic,
only  to  find  another  war, but  the  wars  have  become so
commonplace  that  they  don’t  make  the  news  unless it’s
close   enough    to    smell    the   burning.    We    sort    our
recycling    in   the   dark,    switch   off   appliances   at   the
mains.    We  worry  about  the  weather,   and  whether  or
not we’ll be next.