This spring I woke up from a dream in a state of heat, an unabating heat that did not belong to the chill nights of spring. The only thought I remember having upon waking in this half-dreaming state was that this heat would only rise, that we would all now slowly and excruciatingly die by this relentless, ever-rising heat, that all our models and predictions had been wrong, all our efforts in vain. I quickly fell back to sleep, but a remnant of this somnolent conviction born of dream-logic has remained in me, a spark, a low flame.