the Alps are bare of snow the newspaper sends a drone careening down the brown bed of what only last year really even a month ago or so was once the life- giving river Po il fiume Po the sun sears down on no longer fertile fields scrawny remnants of plants droop to dust while the bird robot tilts and pans gracefully elegantly mindlessly sending today's regrettable predictable forgettable news to Milano to Verona to Torino that their river of life is now dry
