Goddamn Thing Keeps Stalling

You give the thing a violent shaking, cursing it, partly because the days and nights have conspired to seal you out, not overtly, but it's clear your access has been limited. Like a table of high school girls carrying on loudly as though you weren't there turning your questioning of crazy into knowledge. The leaves are gold in the warm dry air tinged with wood smoke and they fall intermittently to the ground already dry. It's too dry here now, you say to the dusk, who wants nothing to do with you, and you flash briefly on the whole area going up in a tornado of fire - the house, the neighbors, all. You cannot help but notice that half the world drowns while the other half burns. You'd better get the rest of the grass cut.