'Everything is melting. I'm on my bike, circling around the court before it gets too hot and Mum yells out the front window. "Come in, you'll get burnt!" Waves of dry heat bounce off the asphalt. The clouds are smoke. Nobody is allowed to water their gardens, so the lawns have become straw, full of thistles and burrs. Mum's flowers turn from purple to faded pink to brown and then they shrivel up, crispy, and fall into the dirt.' (Publication abstract)