I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.
And when I breathed, my breath was lightning.
There's a kind of love that has the power to save you, to get you through life. It's like breathing. You have to do it or you'll die. And when it's over, your soul starts to bleed. There's no pain in the world like it, I swear.
—Susan Wiggs in Summer At Willow Lake
When industrial pollutants finally make the air unbreathable, we will be advised to cover the cities over with plastic domes and air-condition them. Technological optimism is the snake oil of urban industrialism.