The rain pours down in cascades. The gutters are overflowing, but no streams flow in the forest. Soil bubbles over and flows on to the road. The city’s gutter system is long enough to circle the earth at the equators, something all the trees in the city are incapable of, even if lined up root to tip. As a comparison, there are enough humans in this city to circle the world, ten times over, at the equator.
The birds have gone quiet. The wind howls. Dogs and cats have taken silent refuge at heights and in buildings. Humans who have homes are in them. Others are in communion with the dogs and cats. All bow before the rain.
One kind of life is overflowing. What is necessary for life to sustain is busy sucking deep draughts to survive. Even now, with each breath we take, the difference is narrowing. Soon, we may also, like the forest floor, be taking in deep draughts to survive. Soon, we may be sucking on leftovers.