Recent Activity
July — Issue #41
A multigenerational Memphis family moves through a summer Saturday in the mid-2050s where every quiet adaptation holds and nothing breaks.
A woman moves through a morning of stuck doors and rust-colored water in a relocated Alaska village where infrastructure already warps.
A split-page tracking of human acclimatization physiology against the regulatory vacuum surrounding it, day by day, organ by statute.
A father's flawless casting technique meets a river that barely exists, and his son learns every gesture perfectly for nothing.
A burning house becomes a particle becomes you, tracing the precise chemistry of wildfire smoke from combustion through cell to cancer.
Phoenix hit 105°F on the last day of winter. The cooling centers wouldn't open for five more weeks.
A Nebraska farmer prays for frost to kill wheat that survived the warmest, driest winter in recorded history.
A woman lies awake in bare Nebraska dunes, listening for the vanished acoustic weave of grassland the wind no longer carries.
A school form cheerfully prepares sixth graders to boat a reservoir the Colorado River can no longer fill.
A beekeeper feeds syrup to hungry hives waking too early into a Vermont February where nothing blooms.
Warming sends rain to frozen peaks where it refreezes into hidden glass, building avalanche danger the inland ranges never trained for.
Global warming just doubled its pace, and every system keeping Phoenix alive was calibrated to the slower one.
Prose dries on the page as heat-driven drought consumes continents, the sentence structure itself losing moisture alongside the land.
One woman's sleepless body negotiates a night that no longer cools, her adaptation so complete she can't see what it's cost.
A woman and her aging dog trace a familiar route through a Colorado neighborhood quietly emptied of water, shade, and sound.
Federal weather product conventions route you through a self-assessment of your own climate dread. The severity rises with each tier. The bureaucratic calm never breaks.
A federal finding dies on the table. The pathologist records what the body shows. Manner of death: homicide.
A Kansas wheat farmer plants into dead-dry soil, alone between a father's knowledge and a closed extension office, reading ground that no longer answers.
Bangkok teenagers predict floods through their bodies—joint pain, rat patterns, drain smells—while official warnings arrive nine hours too late.
When Japan's government refused to ban fishing in contaminated Minamata Bay despite clear evidence, they chose economic continuity over intervention—a turning point that locked fishing families into years of poisoning while officials demanded perfect certainty.
An actuary's spreadsheet quietly transfers billions in hurricane costs from Florida homeowners to Virginia residents who never chose coastal risk.
A grandmother and granddaughter preserve plums in a climate-changed world where traditional knowledge must adapt to survive, teaching new hands old rituals transformed.
