This one is set in a future of of drought and flash floods, of hot summers and non-existent winter.
The first snows of winter arrived in March, several months too late.
We’re used to it by now but the old people say it used to happen in October or November. The rivers are already shallow and the reservoir is a puddle. When the snow came we were trying to break the clay up in the garden because mum wants to plant another olive tree. The snow wet the ground, but dried within minutes.
Mum showed me photographs of her great-granddad playing in the snow as a kid, with plastic boots and a hat on. A wool hat, with a bobble. We don’t get snow anymore, but, boy, does it rain! It doesn’t stay long, it just runs off the surface, and takes the soil with it.
We went on a day trip to the sea once, no one in the school believed there used to be more land out there.