But is it? by Hermione Bossolina

There's a hurricane, a thunderstorm, and lightning storm in my backyard.

It’s knocking at my door, ripping at my insides and shattering my heart.
As I sit inside away from the rippling storm, staring at the beyond,
beyond the pitter-patter and thuds that sounded all around me,
beyond the musky dark dreams that engulfed me in their echoing darkness,

suddenly, I’m outside, sinking my heels inside the muddy patches created by the afternoon rain.
As I walk, I hear a repeated splish-splash, splish-splash. I hear the croaking frogs, 

the small hoots of the owl, and of course the wind that blows through the graph. 

I feel as though I’m in an anime scene sitting down in a perfect world eating bite sized sandwiches,
I lick my fingers and stare. A clear blue lake stares back at me. 

But suddenly it is no longer clear, it’s murky, stuffed with mud, filled 

to the brim with trash, and above all no light peaks at me.
The perfect world I dreamed of shatters, no longer do I hear the peaceful 

croaks of the frog or the happy hoots that the owls make,
I hear cries, cries of help from the native birds fleeing the area,
the river runs hitting the wood, I hear splat, splat, I hear bugs buzzing 

and I’m surrounded by flies. I run, I run faster, “I want to go back to my perfect world!” I say. 

And suddenly I enter a clearing. The lake is no longer murky, and the sky is bright blue.
I breathe inhaling hard. The grass is a vibrant green and the redwoods and thick trees 

that reach out to the sky with arrogant pride look down upon me.
I stare back at them in awe. Their various colors glorify my world. 

I see purple, red, orange, brown, multiple shades of green.
I fall asleep under the shade of these magnificent trees. 

I wake up when I hear a thud.
It’s pounding at a faster pace, continuous thuds rattle my brain.
I smell smoke all around me tearing down my lungs.
I open my eyes and gaze around me. It is a smoky haze. 

Fire burns and these arrogant prideful trees are slowly dragged away.

“Stop!” I yell, “Don’t go!” But the fire continues to burn down the tree stumps. 

Pitter Patter, Creak creak, I wake up.
I hurry outside wanting to see with my own eyes the world,
Is it still on fire? Is it still grey?
No.
It’s back, the green I longed for and hoped to see once more.
It’s back decorating towers headed for the sky, in apartments filled 

with love and care, and above all shrouded around bustling cities.

My outside has come back, enshrouding me in its glory, 

I stare beyond, as I say, “It’s back!”