Again, smoky unknowing of falling heaven or of signs of raising hell. An imminent rot, rethinking of normal routines with pestilence and hellfire rummaging succinctly. Scars from the losses fatigue of boredom cooped up next to the windows. Watching as the city burns as the world burns as does our disinfected hands. But once the ash falls it can only move one way. When the drought settles, when the distinguishable white flurries- -we will be Phoenixes. Molting into fortress to regain a livable premise, where the sun does not burn to a crisp. To seek out kind souls of Horsetooth, and restore the calcium in our complexion. Numbered are the days of demise for after the Cameron scorch, comes seral growing, comes rebirth.