They tell us to decipher our veggie gardens next year

Memories bubbling up through the distorted water plunged into focus,

Broad alluring skies,

Her hand delicately pointing at the strawberry plants,

They decline in damp earth.

“See Eliza” she whispered,

“The snails have gotten to our strawberries. Maybe we will have better luck next year”.

I gaze, absorbed by the drooping leaves.

Next year?

Nature spins around my narrow body, refining 

Pulling my mind from the bustling roads surrounding the small veggie patch,

Its desire to protect me from the disease of the city is evident.

Pollution dominating, nature struggling to control the leftovers.

They wander away, content to leave this part of the veggie patch,

For them it is easily ignored.

Their voices match hers ‘Maybe we will have better luck next year”,

There is no urgency pricing words open,

They wander away, content to leave this part of nature till next year.

In their eyes, in the government’s eyes, urgent action is unnecessary.

For them climate change can wait till next year.