If it ever stops raining

We moved here for the water. There's still water to drink, but there isn't enough falling from the sky.

It's these trees. All these damn trees that sprawled across the hillsides while the rain kept up, got buggy, and turned into standing firewood. Now they won't rot because it won't rain. Everywhere I look I see kindling ready to blow. It doesn't even need the devil winds. What we have lately is plenty.

I'm not sure who told the news to talk about the slash fires in the midwest a couple of hundred years ago. "Thumb fire?" More like "middle finger fire" to us lucky listeners.

Keep us scared, keep us ready to move, and tense. People shouting at each other like we can do anything about this. Someone's going to snap and light a fire as revenge and we'll all be done.

We can't even get out of the way. Where to go? South to the blistering swamps doesn't work. North and east and west get you more of the same.

I think I'm going to get a rowboat and a gas mask and paddle out to the middle of Lake Ontario. Maybe it'll be nice there.