From flowers to rain to ice,
The cycle continues.
From before we were advanced enough to recognize it,
And the storms meant the end of days rather than cloud particles.
From when we worshipped it,
Blaming ourselves for droughts and turning to unjust sacrifices
To bring the water back.
Water came back, in the form of storms,
And it was glorified.
A part of our culture.
The cycle continues for countless generations
Past devestations swaying into new ones,
Like a teaching passed down from protege to protege,
Each iteration refusing to update.
Soon scientists understood how and why weather came,
And artists drew inspiration from snowy nights and sunny days.
Breaking the cycle seemed impossible,
Breaking the cycle would mean abandoning everything we knew.
Year after year, rotation after rotation, flowers to rain to ice come.
Yet, we’ve managed to break the cycle.

    Wonderful.                        We’re doomed.