We seem to have landed in some alternate universe. The life forms here have discovered that their large cold-air machines that many have jutting out from windows have been rendered useless. The machines sit idle, gathering green dust from the vegetation and puddles from the relentless rain.
Rain. How is this even possible? It feels as if it is close to snowing. There is a bite to this alien atmosphere that begs for warmth. Inside, the whirring of great flame-borne furnaces stirs the air, replacing the once-steady hum from blade-worn fans that are strategically set up to move cooler air from one indoor pod to the next.
Glass windows once thrown wide open now protect the inner sanctums from the flimsy screens that do nothing to keep out the chill. Jackets with large animal fur-lined hoods are being released from their temporary captivity in attics and basements. Heavy socks crawl from the backs of drawers and jump onto the humans' feet as if the socks themselves have minds of their own.
Oh, never mind. It's just June 2nd in New England.
