The electric-blue hand-tooled eagle on the wallet of the depressed man has both wings drawn already, with heft given over to launching herself into the sky.
What happens next appears decided. Already a few small animals are racing back under camouflage to rock at the lip of their burrows, the cool of quick-grown suddenness. Already more than a few have been holding their breath underwater or concatenating silently in primordial shade. A few may end up too far out in the open.
The seasons tighten. The talon loosens and claw drops, where so much is going on in present hunger that isn’t stopping for now. Possibly it can’t. Already Celsius rises in the air and sea circulations. What’s screed and purred at the heights has sprung out, empty and full of power, above what’s beneath, drawn to the more vulnerable within reach.
The man hands money over and hugs the brown sack of apples and meats softly to his chest, a little voice escaping from him as he aims his next steps in a direction.
In underground chambers, mouse-like creatures which over eons evolved into pachyderms and wolves lick a youngster’s head, alert for those in the field, for their mammal brethren and the future.
Survival may still depend on quickness as on will of the masses facing complexities of life-support threats.