People are animals.
We, once domesticated creatures, now are on a destructive regressive path.
We are ending our own world.
We are cracking our mother's heart with the pollution of our industries.
We are blowing smoke in her face and damning her.

Our mother; We don't realize that when she is gone we won't get another to wake us with her husband's light, rock us to sleep in her watery arms, discipline us with the whip of her winds, and love us despite our wronging.

Like always we are trying to leave our mother. Broken and bruised by our mistakes. We are searching for a surrogate, a new home, Because our mother is quietly rocking in her chair. Watching us play in the yard. She sees our future, she knows our past. She is forgiving. Our mother, on her death bed, burning from the outside in, is forgiving.

She is dying. Weak, her shield emaciated, yet she still feeds us every night; still gives us the air we breathe, the water we drink. She is still spinning like that dancer she is, and to repay her, we are animals.

Tearing at her soul with machines built with the shavings of her skin. Binding her, once wide, still loving arms, in shackles made of plastic we tie around her wet hands. Instead of using what we need, what she has given us. We take not considering our mothers pain, and take more and let the remains build high in dry mountains that burn.That we burn.

I'm sorry for the climate change.