It is too late. We have entered the endgame, what used to be the unimaginable. It is here.
Unbreathable air fills our lungs, suffocating us from sharing resounding laughs with our loved ones. The beach breeze, sweet flower scents, fresh savor of rain no longer fill our noses, our spirits, with the warmth of tranquility, with the comfort of solace. Oceans, rivers, and lakes no longer glisten from the illuminant rays of the morning sun as the pollutants of man cloud their shine, smother their beauty, disrupt their rhythmic ripples and tides, whose crested shapes once harbored extraordinary marine life—a site that enthralled the human eye. The hissing of crickets no longer amplify the brisk evening air as before when we laid across the soft green grass, gazing into the ornate constellations embellishing the night sky. The early morning whistle of doves abandon our ears, a tune that used to gratify us with a beautiful ring, as the stenched heat disrupt the birds’ migration, their flock, and melodic songs of life. Autumn ceases to grace us with its rich red, orange, and yellow leaves whose veins once reminded us of the intricate beauty of trees whose roots reached deep into the heart of the earth. Winter ceases to grace us with its sprinkles of snow, whose flakes once immersed us into the holiday spirit, where we sat around the fire with our loved ones, before Christmas morning filled our hearts, after the snow’s icy molecules woke us with its flickering beauty. Spring ceases to grace us with it’s blossomed flowers that welcomed buzzing yellow bees to sit upon after they swarmed across the still pond, under the deep blue sky. Summer ceases to grace us with its hot midday sun that once bathed us in its warmth, as we tasted the fruitful popsicles of sweet youth, reminding us of the beauty that is being. Oh nature, how your mystical powers that once ignited us cease to be.