Dear Wolfmother,

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Today the air was alkaline and I found myself gasping to breathe. I raked off Mausenstein and found another spritz of silver in my hair. Immediately cut it off and launched a gob of green phlegm over the artificial canyon in Daydream Springs—a series of lateral geysers embedded under brown astroturf that would spurt just over children’s heads on a hot day, allowing parents a brief respite from their hand-holding and crowd-cruising. I imagined the peop…the youngers I mean, as rats flooding through the valley, cheeks fat with candy.  When I snuck back into the tunnels to liberate what rations I could from my cache, on my way out Ives gave chase and this time Beethoven didn’t stop him! I watched the alpha literally snubbing his snout in my direction as his brother kicked up trash, flitting through the void. I lost a boot; its sole resides presently tooth-snagged at the entrance where it will remain. I confess: I barely escaped intact in my own skin this time. I’m not mad, nor disappointed, or even surprised really; everything defaults back to the way of Nature’s Knife eventually.      In my next life, remind me to will myself into a wolf, but for now I’m stuck in this clammy humansuit.      What to do with my fellow clumsy humansuits, though?    What to do, what to do.  If you can spare it, do send me some guidance?            Be well!                       -C