Dispatches From The Great Conflict
On the front lines of the Pollen Wars
Spring 2023
Dear Diary,
These Sorrowful Times continue. Another day of unimaginable horror and woe has passed, and Providence in his Wisdom has spared me to recount for Posterity all that has transpired here. It is a heavy task. As I write this, the night air hangs solemn with pestilence and one question alone rests on every weary tongue —
When will this cursed War Against Pollen end?
This morning — so innocent! so long ago! — the rain had ceased. It was a glorious day, sunny and warm. More brave than wise and lulled by the day’s magnificence, our legions left home and hearth to confront the foe. What rough winds do shake the darling buds of May!
We never stood a chance. In city and hamlet alike, our ranks stood helpless as the enemy attacked unseen from every tree, every bush, every freshly mowed blade of grass, and borne on the merciless Spring breezes, infected one and all. Behold, pitiless Nature — so lovely and so savage. Each blooming azalea seemed to laugh and point.
The day raged on, the toll, staggering. The fields and streets piled high with fallen comrades. Grim sneezes, hacking coughs and rude bleatings rent the air. Routed and imprisoned, each eye, ear, nose…
