I am many things
I have been many things.
Warm and green.
Cold and gray.
Devastated and dying.
Now I am alive again,
but I fear my new children imitate the old ones.
Some claim the mountains or the forests.
Or build fortresses on the planes.
They begin to mistrust ...
... and prepare for war.
Still, I love them as only a mother can.
And now I fear for them.
I feel the winds of change begin to blow.
And this time it may be an all out storm.
I pray that my children will weather this tempest.
For nothing is immortal.
And one day.
They may have to survive without me.