I water wilting plants, consider how the seasons tilt in this new age we’ve made, unroll the hose, watch insects rushing to wet pools. I consider my back fence, the possums, squirrels, and feral cats, the raucous crows who use it, running through dense maple leaves. I consider thirst and buy a water fount to give them sips. It’s said in 30 years there will be food and water riots. My hands are scented with the urgent hopes of new-planted herbs.