THE BRUSHFIRE ANTHOLOGY
Table of Contents
Summary: climate change stories exploring different ecosystems, cultures, experiences and people.
1. Brushfire- “The way in is not the way out”
2. The Canyon and the Dive
3. The Cult of Water
4. Inside the Belly of The Beast
5. The Sculpture Garden
6. Road Trip across the New United States
7. Utopia
8. The Traveler and The Time Machine
9. The Digital Abyss
10. Love in the Time of War
11. Ocean Blues
12. The High Mountain Heiress
13. The Inspection
14. Electric Swamp
15. Dumping Site 34
16. Leaving Home
17. Borderline Punk: An Artist’s Guide to Rebellion
18. The Watchtower
19. The Steel Volcano
20. The Pass
21. The Jewel Thief
22. The Academy
23. City Limits
24. Men and Death on the Moon
25. Climate Anxiety Anonymous
26. The Labyrinth
27. The Radio Tower
28. Hider and Wiley after the Apocalypse: Love and Turkey Meat
29. Pollenmainia
Rubble
Less traffic out here. Quiet evenings and I might be walking in circles. I see a line of rusty water dwindle into a sieve before I can drink. A small beetle scuttles into a crevasse as it follows passageways eating the salt off the rubble of an old observatory. I can’t identify the species but I observe a gold-plated back, The eyes appear to be the same material. Long lines like prison bars cover his wings. sparkling green. It is a solitary creature or at least has been made to be that way.
The Shallows
Here we stare out at the subsurface flats, and think we see distant hills. Scattered clouds form in bursts of unflowing wind cooking in the hot summer sun. The waves are tumultuous, and strange shadows move like disappearing pheasants into bramble. The lonely guard measures the changes in depth and turbidity since yesterday. Watching as velocity fluctuates and pitches the instruments eagerly. The shadows don’t seem to be leaving.
Familiar coasts. and unusual reflection patterns, the image blips.
The Bramble
On a cliff. Dead trees lean and provide some shade, the caves directly below provide more. The valley awaits drying fast in the midday sun. Out there, leaves begin to crisp and steam, and a thick fog of smoke wisps settle in. Two surveyors prepare their descent, fret over air samples, and seek out the nearest crevasse. The suits are about ready to be shed, and rest is much needed, no data today other than the route.
A recording, documents a place in time, the image stabilizes and solidifies.
Below the City
Here, rust particles, from the old foundation being eaten into by spiraling vines, settle to the surface of the streambed, and are displaced by the technician, drilling into the clay and rock. Something scuttles downstream and ripples pulse through otherwise stagnate water. The day is heating up.
This image appears out of an off white background and is studied intently.
Mom’s House
Early morning chores give way to afternoon bliss. The fireplace is pumping and the neighborhood animals are running amuck. We are late! Again! Time to swing the door shut, and lug your gear out, even the guards are ready for a siesta, but we gotta move! Election is coming up, and ideas are made to be shared. “Get that old donkey back in the office!” I call to Jesse to print out flyers, and he starts his gizmoed up n’ rickety ol press. The brick walls and dirt roads remind me just where I am.
The Entrance
“Halt. You have a little spot on your face. Why do you have that! Please stay put. I hear alarms going off now, let me check my manual….oh dear. I’ll be back one second.”
The officer shakes his head and shakily opens the metal door behind him. Disappearing for several seconds. He reappears smiling.
“Ahem, welcome! I would advise caution. Sorry about that little kerfuffle. Have a wonderful day, and enjoy the view!”
His voice lingers and the metal doors open in both the image and the room.
The Overpass
High mountains and thin air. The sky starts lighting up as evening begins. Dramatic swings in temperature push down trees and kick up dirt with hard gusts of wind from above. The pass is closed for now. And the city at the horizon is locking down. The trio of onlookers see signals from smaller stations nearby, radio communication is about to go out. Their maps are recalibrating true north, and their location is narrowing, they must make careful steps.
This image turns into air, filling the room
A Proliferation of Flowers
Nothing for miles. A long highway, eventually, turns into dirt. The cicadas chirp, breaking the silence in a spell-bounding registry. The lone collector skips up and down, and in circles performing the same dance he saw on television as a child. Far from home, and the most vivid colors light up his vision.
Melting Ice Shelves
A long walk has burned holes in the shoes of a line of tired troops. The sun’s glow is leaving and the ice slopes lose their transparency. The air on these ice sheets is intoxicating, people begin to wander from the crowd, convinced they are seeing their futures, or families, or food. The envoy is late to meet them. A rumbling below the ice breaks the spell of dreams and the small crowd begins taking formations.
The image turns dark and melts away, spilling thick liquid on the floor.
Sergeant Singh’s Orders
Night has fallen. The clouds have rolled in and the crew gets to work servicing equipment. The caravan has stopped in a large rock outcropping. Tomorrow will be a hard day, lots of grass stalks to clear and the tower is not near. The laughter in the camp is at a minimum, and conversation seems hard. The injured sergeant scans the flat rolling plains and squints concerned at a deep blue pool reflecting something indistinguishable, “What’s over the hill brats? Check it out and report back to me.”
A Sunken Altar
An object of worship. the last sprigs of water in the red sands. The site has seemingly shifted, a large depression where there once was a mound. The gold metal fountain seems to be smoldering. Two collectors arrive wily and tired, after a collection gone awry, a forgotten chalice, and a heated argument. Now they must go back home.
Based on recorded eyewitness accounts this image was assembled. Self report surveys supplemented visual generation.
The Caves
A whistling howl lets through plooms of steam, from pockets in the rock wall. The collectors return after a long journey with worn backs and fading painkillers. Automatic feelings give the meddling urges to run, and the offering they carry feels insufficient.
They check their clothes before entering, afraid of the scent they track with them.
The King’s Window
Underground Temple
An autopsy is being performed, the room has been necessarily sanitized and climate controlled. Potential treatment options are limited, runaway biological pattern replication, the mind has sealed itself in an exoskeleton. Water spills out of the walls and follows neatly its designated paths surrounding the table, soothing to the touch, it ripples gently in rhythm. The body stirs. Color returns.
The smell of iron wafts in with the image, details of the procedure deconstruct and are tallied.