“What we need now,” he said,
“Is new ideas.” They started to fall
like snowflakes on that late sharp
November evening when we first

saw the altered light, over the Alpine
lake surrounded by cities who’s
population, as discerned through
quick perusal of the census charts,

fluctuated with unprecedented
irregularity, reminding you of
Andolian snow-capped mountain peaks.
You  followed bits of this, like normal,

But found a pattern did not emerge.
The orange was sharp, ****, and
beautiful. Thousands were pulling
their Geiger counters out of closets

filled with unused sports equipment,
scarves, cleaning supplies, and brick-a-brac.
We pointed to tell-tail streaks left down
the hallway, but the planters never bloomed.