Gen z you must wake up.

It claws it's way out of the sand, lifting its marvelous head in glory. Sounds of life and death. Watch it, watch out, it has been waiting for centuries to return, return at last, fire burning.

What do I gather? I gather the leaves after the flower petals have fallen, six months later, six months of going nowhere, and into the deep night, on the darkest nights to find comfort, perhaps a new idea to drop upon my head, and awaken me.

There at the beginning and only the beginning, eyes move fast because they must, can not fail at least for a while, to start or risk the worst and what hides in darkness, whose evil twists in front of broken glass, whose soul is broken.