She was the vanishing ice, the salt burned forests, the hot wind across the sea.
She was the scorched earth of the alluvial plane, mud cracked then turned to dust in her veins.
She was the burnt pine, alone on the northern side of mountain steeps, a spire aspiring for green needles to clothe her naked body once again.
She was the polar bear, hundreds of miles from floes, swimming from shore to shore. No seals to hunt, no ice to rest her weary bones.
She was the raven that rests upon the carcass flesh, on the shoulder crest of large mammals that cease to be.
She was…