It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: The Cloud Weaver's Song, by Saul Tanpepper

Episode Date: March 29, 2026

Margaret reads you a story about climate refugees, ancestors, and giant spider robots that weave webs of glassSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-Heart podcast. Guaranteed Human. How could this have happened in City Hall building? Somebody tell me that. A shocking public murder. This is one of the most dramatic events that really ever happened in New York City politics. I scream. Get down. Get down. Those are shots. A tragedy that's now forgotten.

End of mystery. That may or may not have been political. That may have been about sex. Listen to Roershack. Murder at City Hall. on the IHeart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Lori Siegel, and on my new podcast, Mostly Human,

I'll take you to some wild corners of the tech world. I'm about to go on a date with an AI companion at a real world cafe right here in New York City. There's no playbook for what to do when an AI model hallucinates a story about you. Mostly Human is your playbook for how tech can work for you. Anyone can now be an entrepreneur, or anyone can build an app.

And it's very empowering. Listen to mostly human on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows. In 2023, Bachelor star Clayton Eckerd was accused of fathering twins. But the pregnancy appeared to be a hoax. You doctored this particular test twice, Ms. Owens, correct? I doctored the test ones. It took an army of internet detectives to uncover a disturbing pattern.

Two more men who'd been through the same thing. Greg Gillespie and. Michael Mines. My mind was blown. I'm Stephanie Young. This is Love Trapped. Laura, Scottsdale Police. As the season continues, Laura Owens finally faces consequences.

Listen to Love Trapped podcast on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. You know Roll Doll. He thought up Willie Wonka and the BFG. But did you know he was a spy? In the new podcast, The Secret World of Roll Doll, I'll tell you that story, and much, much more. What? You probably won't believe it either. Was this before he wrote his stories?

It must have been. Okay, I don't think that's true. I'm telling you. I was a spy. Listen to the secret world of Roll Dahl on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Cool Zone Media. Book Club.

Book Club. Book. Book. Book. Hello. And welcome to the Cool Zone Media Book. Club, the only book club where you don't have to do the reading, because I do it for you. I'm your host, Margaret Kiljoy, and today, how do you feel about folklore? How do you feel

about children's bedtime stories? How do you feel about spider mecks? Today, we are reading the Cloud Weaver's Song by Saul Tanpepper, which blends the lyricism and mythopo-poetics of folklore with just gorgeous sci-fi imagery about climate refugees, ancestry, spider mechs, I mentioned the spider mechs, I think, and struggling to convince established power structures, the world is changing. It's also a story that is steeped in the language and police names of Eritrea,

which is a small country in the Horn of East Africa that shares a border with Ethiopia and Sudan. This story is from a 2021 collection called Afterglow, Climate Fiction for FDafrica future ancestors, which itself started as a story contest from Grist called Imagine 2020 that challenged readers to, quote, envision the next 180 years of equitable climate progress, whether built on abundance or adaptation, reform, or a new understanding of survival, these stories provide flickers of hope, even joy, and serve as a springboard for exploring how fiction can help create a better

reality, which is, you know, part of our alley. It's very up our alley. I don't know how that metaphor works. Without further ado, the Cloud Weaver's Song by Saul Tanpepper. Your great Grand Abba ten times removed was the last of the Danakilia far, I say, settling back against the cushion, and the first to construct the towers. A breeze passes in through the open door and dries the sweat on our brows. Tonight is the first time the temperature has been cool enough to leave the windows open, and the rooms fill with the humid aroma of the day's harvest. Before the great drying swept across the land,

the afar were a nomadic people of the horn, shepherds mainly, who kept to themselves. Afterward, they became builders and salt traders. Your great Grand Adi, ten times removed, came from the highlands. Sinate fidgets. Matters of ancient history hold little interest for her. She asks to hear about the cloud weavers instead. Let your Adi finish, little one, Abolimi gently chides.

It is important that you know where you come from. But I smile down at my daughter. I draw her hair away from my eyes and ask, How do you know about them? Tess told me, he says we are sky people that are rightful places with them weaving the clouds. Tess Faye, Leamy murmurs. He rolls his eyes, but gives me an amused look.

Your brother's head is already in the clouds, I say, chuckling. But I will make a deal with you, Sinait. I will tell you about the weavers if you promise to go to sleep right after I am finished. And also the thief of sand, Sanate says, sitting up straighter in her bed. Her eyes sparkle mischievously, belaying the exhaustion she tries so hard to hide. Abolimi bellows out a laugh.

Our daughter, I do not think she wishes to sleep at all tonight. But I know she will slumber and soon, for the weavers and the sand thief are part of the same story, and it is not very long in the telling. And afterward, maybe then, she will understand why her older brother's audacious claims are both right and wrong. As for Abolimi, he is less anxious about her daughter's weariness than for my own work yet to come,

for there is so much still to do in two few hours before the sun will next rise. In the history of our people, there has never been a land more inhospitable than the Donakil, even in the time before the great drying, in what was known as the afar triangle of the great horn. There existed a place so hot and so parched that almost nothing grew. Sulfur springs bubbled up from the ground

wherever you stood, spewing poison that painted the rocks yellow and turned the sky as sickly gray. And yet, in such an inhospitable place, isolated and against all odds, a humble people thrived for a thousand years. But the world was changing, growing hotter and drier, and soon even the heartiest of the afar were driven away by the

intolerable heat. They migrated inland, for the only other direction was the sea, and they surely could not go there. They ended up in the midlands of the Great Horn, which was a place of many different climates. In some areas where the temperature had long been cooler and the air wetter, forests stood thick and tall. In others, the land was flat and suitable for growing cold. crops. But it was in the dry lands there among the towering termite mounds and the scorpions that the solitary afar found familiar surroundings. So that is where they settled, even though it was not their home. For I think you will agree that it is always better to take shelter in a stranger's house than to refuse to leave your own when it is burning to the ground. At the same time,

the people of the milder midland climbs, farmers mostly, were being forced deeper into the interior by the heat. There was once a beautiful city called Asmara, high on the Cabesa Plateau, a mile and a half into the sky. Asmara was a wondrous place, where for a hundred thousand years, the clouds drenched the air each night, and rains nourished the soil. The rivers that flowed down its escarpments fed the lowlands and eventually emptied into the sea. The ancient name Asmara comes from the phrase Arbate Asmara, which in the original Tigrina means the four women who made them unite.

Many centuries before, this land had been under constant threat from a common enemy. Now, as before, it was the women who brought the clans together to defend against this new danger. For a while, Asmara became a sanctuary to anyone seeking refuge from the great drying.

But the heat and drought were unrelenting foes, and they drove more and more people to the city on the plateau. Week after week they came, year after year. And because there was only so much land to hold them all, war became inevitable. For a hundred years, the fighting waged. Now, just as there is no amount of conflict, no matter how bitterly fought which can alter the course of nature,

no volume of human blood could quench the thirst of the great drying. The deserts continued to expand, spreading until they reached the very ankles of the beloved city on the plateau. It is said that necessity makes us do what we must in order to survive. Eventually, the rains began to evaporate before ever reaching the ground, and the rivers dried long before spilling into the sea. So the women of Asmara rose again and taught themselves how to harvest the nightly mists with threads spun from molten glass. For a while, it helped.

But the thirst of the great drying was like that of the hyenas, never slaked, not satisfied with stealing the fogs from all the lands beneath Esmara's feet. It reached up and took them from her, too. Once more, necessity made the people do what they must in order to survive. The peaceful afar had long since retreated into the clouds by building towers that reached even higher than the Cabesa Plaza. Now it was the brothers and sisters' houses burning to the ground, and so they welcomed them all into the sky, where the mists were still plentiful and ripe for harvesting. Samhar Abraham was a weaver of webs. Each night she assumed the skin of a spider and set out from her little hole to spin her delicate threads.

High above the ground, where the clouds formed, she carefully laid out line after endless line, each one as thin as a hair and as long. as a mile. To harvest the dew that condensed upon them, she gently plucked each string, sending them vibrating along their entire length. Each wire carried its own unique note, and when played altogether, they sang the song of the weavers. As the droplets traveled down the wires, they merged and grew fat, creating a delicate river suspended in the sky. This is how the people harvested the clouds so that they all might live. And each night, when you heard the you would know how heavily laden the wires were with mist, depending on how melodious or melancholic the notes sounded. Simhar was still a young woman when her dear friend, Alimira Kedafo, fell to the

earth. Ali, as he was known by her, was an orphan. His mother and father had died when he was still but a child no taller than a grown man's hip. He knew only of his parents' trade from the faintest memories and the stories others told him. But as soon as he was old enough, he donned the skin of the termite, just as his adhi and Abbo had, and also as their forbearers had done before them, all the way back to when they first raised their homes into the sky. Only the descendants of the afar were allowed to wear the termite skins, for no one else dared to erect the towers so high where the air was so thin, and no others can make the long and treacherous descent each day to where the air was oven hot and desert dry to collect the sand they needed to build their

houses and harvest the salt that people needed to survive. And do you know what needs you in order to survive? The products and services that support this podcast. Median women are looking for more. More to themselves, their businesses, their elected leaders, and the world are out of them. And that's why we're thrilled to introduce the Honest Talk podcast. I'm Jennifer Stewart. And I'm Catherine. Clark. And in this podcast, we interview Canada's most inspiring women. Entrepreneurs, artists, athletes, politicians, and newsmakers, all at different stages of their journey. So if you're looking to connect, then we hope you'll join us. Listen to the Honest Talk podcast on IHeartRadio or wherever

you listen to your podcasts. Why hasn't a woman formally participated in a Formula One race weekend in over a decade? Think about how many skills they have to develop at such a young age. What can we learn from all of the new F1 romance novel suddenly popping up every year. He still smelled of podium champagne and expensive friction. And how did a 2023 event called Wag Agetten change the paddock forever? That day is just seared into my memory. I'm culture writer and F1 expert Lily Herman, and these are just a few of the questions I'm tackling on no grip.

A Formula One Culture podcast that dives into the under-explored pockets of the sport. In each episode, a different guests and I will go deep. deeper into the wacky mishap, scandals and sagas, both on the track and far away from it, that have made F1 a delightful, decadent dumpster fire for more than 75 years. Listen to No Grip on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. You know Roll Doll, the writer who thought up Willie Wonka, Matilda, and the BFG. But did you know he was also a spy? Was this before he wrote his stories?

It must have been. Our new podcast series, The Secret World of Roll Doll, is a wild journey through the the hidden chapters of his extraordinary, controversial life. His job was literally to seduce the wives of powerful Americans. What? And he was really good at it. You probably won't believe it either. Okay, I don't think that's true.

I'm telling you, the guy was a spy. Did you know Dahl got cozy with the Roosevelt's? Played poker with Harry Truman and had a long affair with a congresswoman. And then he took his talents to Hollywood, where he worked alongside Walt Disney and Alfred Hitchcock, before writing a hit James Bond film. How did this secret agent, wind up as the most successful children's author ever,

and what darkness from his covert past seeped into the stories we read as kids. The true story is stranger than anything he ever wrote. Listen to the secret world of Roll Dahl on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever you get your podcasts. If you're trying to keep up with everything happening on and off the court, we've got you covered on the podcast, flagrant and funny.

You look at the top four number one seeds. What do you think UCLA is going to do? Break down that for me, my friend. Obviously, Yukon is the over. Well, my favorite in this tournament, but I'll be honest, I think people are kind of sleeping on Texas. Experts are suggesting that UCLA is the number one challenger to Yukon and that right after that would be Texas.

S&C is so deep and so thinking just about everything. It really is annoying. So it's UCLA, Texas, South Carolina, LSU, only ones that could possibly upset Yukon. On Flagrin and Funny, we're giving our unfiltered takes on the biggest moments of the conversations everyone's having. So whether your bracket is busted or you just want the latest on the tournament, we got you. Listen to Flakran and Funny with Carrie Champion and Jamel Hill on the IHeart Radio app, Apple

podcast or wherever you get your podcast. Presented by Capital One, founding partner of IHeart Women's Sports. And we're back. For months, Samhar had been weaving longer into the night than she was supposed to, constructing larger and more intricate webs in order to better capture the dwindling mists. The air had been growing dry. which the leader said was due to the yearly shift in seasons. But she felt in her bones that this time was different.

The capricious clouds seemed less willing than ever to relinquish their bounty to her web. Yet for all her worrying, the leaders of the council did not seem very concerned. One morning, several weeks before Ali's fall, as Semhar made her way back home, she encountered him preparing for his daily descent to the ground. Usually she would only see him in the evenings After he had already made his rounds Trading with the growers for food and the weavers for water The two young friends would sit together and eat their supper

Watching the sun drop down onto the barren Cabasa Plateau Far to the west The darkness would settle in and the mists would rise toward their backs And when the fog overtook them and blanketed the stars above He would off to bed Whilst she would dawn her spider skin and begin to spin her web. Seeing him that morning, she realized how late she was in returning.

He warned her to be more careful, for the rising sun would melt her threads, and she could fall. He did not wish for her a fate similar to the one his parents had suffered years before. As she watched him descend into the morning mist below, she had a thought. Tonight, I will spin my web down there, for that is where the clouds have gone. But her parents told her no. It is too dangerous, they said. It is too hot, and the winds are too unpredictable.

And besides, how can we collect the water if the webs are below the cisterns? You must continue to weave the clouds as we have done for generations, high above us. But the clouds are thicker below. Above us, Samhar, they repeated. Each year the great drying chases the clouds higher and higher. It has been this way for two hundred years, and is why we must build our towers at least. little taller each day. Samhar was defiant. She knew the clouds were no longer rising. In fact, they were falling. This is a temporary change, they assured her. We are sky people, builders of towers

and weavers of clouds. But we were not always so, Samar countered. Our dearest Wulad, listen to your parents. Do not look below for answers, for you will not find them. Our ancestors have taught us this valuable lesson. But the ancestors had also taught that necessity made them do what they must in order to survive. Semhar believed the sky people's very existence, like that of their forebears, lay once more in the balance.

The clouds are shifting, she told Ali when she met him for supper that evening. They are no longer as high as they used to be. Ali ate his injera thoughtfully, but did not reply. His was a simple life of climbing and gathering and climbing and climbing and bartering day after day. He did not like to think about change. Change was what had happened when his abo and Adi had died.

In fact, he disliked it so much that his first instinct was to refuse to acknowledge it at all. But Samhar was his dear friend, and he loved and respected her, for she had a keen mind and always spoke the truth. Also, he too had sensed the shift in the weather, and it was not the same seasonal cycle he had witnessed in years past.

Each morning the mists wet the tower bases longer and lower, and it took him extra time to make the treacherous climb to the ground. More than once, he had nearly slipped and fallen. Today, she told him, I will need an extra allotment of sand. I've already given you all I can spare, he replied. How much more can you weave? I wish to spin a whole extra web. But you already use up every minute of darkness on the one.

but I haven't used up all the mist. Samhar, if I let you have more, the builders will begin to notice the deficit. Tomorrow morning, she pressed, as if she hadn't heard a single word, he said, I will build a second web. This one will be lower, while the mists are still beneath us

and the sun hasn't burned them away. He scoffed. And how will you harvest the water then? The drops will fall uncollected to the ground and be wasted. The desert does not need the rain as we do. I wish to prove a point to the council, and if I am to be confident that I am right, I must first prove it to myself. If they find out, you'll be punished for breaking the rules. The leaders are like lions, always hunting the weak to make way for the strong.

They will take your skin away from you and let someone else weave the clouds instead. What will you do then? There is an old saying. When spider webs unite, they can capture a lion. The leaders are stubborn, this is true, but they are not stupid. I will spin my webs to capture their attention. Only then will I make them see that things are changing, even if they are changing in ways that they might not want or expect them to.

They are comfortable with their life up here in the sky. But we cannot keep building higher and breathing thinner air while chasing clouds that are no longer there. Ali considered this for a long time. As he did, somehow turned her back to the sunset. for the first time, and instead watched the mists rolling in from a distant sea she'd only ever seen in her dreams. Finally, when the first delicate drops of dew began to reach up and caress their skin, Ali told her what he would do. It was a tremendous amount of extra work for him, but Ali believed

in his friend. It also helped that he shared her concerns. The clouds were shifting, and if the trend continued, as Samhar believed it would, they would eventually have no more mist to harvest. The extra thousand pounds of sand he carried threatened his skin's grip as he climbed the tower that evening. It took him far longer than usual to return to the top, and he was exhausted when he arrived. Why are you so late, Alamira Gaddafi? The builders demanded. We were worried you had fallen just as your parents did. No reason, he told them. No reason? Are you embarrassed for falling asleep whilst gathering sand in the desert, you must be more careful, or else you will dry up like the salt. Will you trade for your allotment or not? Why should we? You were late, they repeated.

We have already traded with someone else for tomorrow's work. What am I supposed to do with the sand I have today? We will take it anyway, but give you nothing in return. Tomorrow, make sure you are back in time, or else we will tell the council that you no longer deserve to wear the skin. This will not work, Ali thought, as he left the builders. I will just have to tell Samhar at supper that I cannot get her extra sand for her wires. But it was too late to see her that evening, for the sun was already beginning to set and the mists were coiling at their feet. Samhar would have finished eating by now, and Ali still had salt yet to trade for his own dinner.

He went looking for her the next day, after he was. he had returned from the ground at the usual time, with his usual load and given the builders their sand and traded his salt away. She was flushed with excitement and barely allowed him any chance to speak while they ate. I have not seen so much water in a very long time, she told him. If this continues as I expect, then I will soon tell the leaders. You cannot do that, he told her what had happened the day before. It takes me too long to gather the extra sand and far more effort to climb the tower. so that by the time I have returned, the builders have already received their allocations from other gatherers.

They still take my sand and give me nothing in return, so that I am left with little to show for my efforts. I am sorry, Samhar, but I have no extra sand for you this evening. Ali lay in bed for a long time without sleeping that night. He couldn't get Samhar's disappointment from his mind. High above him, the weavers built their webs to harvest the mists, and the songs their webs sang were the saddest he had. had ever heard. He decided then that he would leave earlier the next morning an extra hour before sunrise to gather some harsh sand. The towers would still be slick with dew and the climb would be

especially perilous, but he knew that she was right. If she was willing to break the rules for her convictions, then the risks he took were worth it. Every morning for the next month, he rose before dawn, donned his termite skin, and climbed down to the desert below. Every day of that month he toiled in the baking hot sun to gather the extra sand for his friend. And every evening he told her where he had stashed it, so that she could spin her extra web. She did not care that the water she collected spilled unused to the ground. I am doing this to be certain I am right, she told him. I hope it will not take too long before you are, he replied.

It won't. Soon the lions will have no choice but to listen to reason. And why do you think they will, he asked? Because the water in the cisterns is beginning to drop. She was so proud of her work that he would not tell her how many times he had nearly fallen or how the extra burden was wearing on his skin. He made his repairs as best he could, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before it would fail. But do you know what, dear listener, will never fail you?

The products and services that support this podcast, all of them are perfect in every way. And that's not hyperbole. And this isn't sarcasm. Canadian women are looking for more. More to themselves, their businesses, their elected leaders, and the world are out of them. And that's why we're thrilled to introduce the Honest Talk podcast.

I'm Jennifer Stewart. And I'm Catherine Clark. And in this podcast, we interview Canada's most inspiring women. Entrepreneurs, artists, athletes, politicians, and newsmakers, all at different stages of their journey. So if you're looking to connect, then we hope you'll join us. Listen to the Honest Talk podcast and I Heart Radio or wherever you listen to your podcasts. You know Roaldahl, the writer who thought up Willie Wonka, Matilda, and the BFG.

But did you know he was also a spy? Was this before he wrote his stories? It must have been. Our new podcast series, The Secret World of Roll Doll, is a wild journey through the hidden chapters of his extraordinary, controversial life. His job was literally to seduce the wives of powerful marriage. And he was really good at it. You probably won't believe it either. Okay, I don't think that's true.

I'm telling you, the guy was a spy. Did you know Dahl got cozy with the Roosevelt's? Played poker with Harry Truman and had a long affair with a congresswoman. And then he took his talents to Hollywood, where he worked alongside Walt Disney and Alfred Hitchcock before writing a hit James Bond film. How did this secret agent wind up as the most successful children's author ever? And what darkness from his covert past

seeped into the stories we read as kids? The true story is stranger than anything he ever wrote. Listen to the secret world of Roll Dahl on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Why hasn't a woman formally participated in a Formula One race weekend in over a decade? Think about how many skills they have to develop at such a young age. What can we learn from all of the new F1 romance novels suddenly popping up every year? He still smelled of podium champagne and expensive friction. And how did a 2023 event called Wag Ageddon change the paddock forever?

That day is just seared into my memory. I'm culture writer and F1 expert Lily Herman, and these are just a few of the questions I'm tackling on no grip, a Formula One culture podcast that dives into the under-explored pockets of the sport. In each episode, a different guest and I will go deeper into the wacky mishaps, scandals and sagas, both on the track and far away from it, that have made F1 a delightful, decadent dumpster fire for more than 75 years. Listen to no grip on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

If you're trying to keep up with everything happening on and off the court, we've got you covered on the podcast, flagrant and funny. You look at the top four number one seeds. What do you think UCLA is going to do? Break down that for me, my friend. Obviously, Yukon is the overwhelming favorite in this tournament. But I'll be honest, I think people are kind of. I'm the sleeping on Texas.

Experts are suggesting that UCLA is the number one challenger to Yukon and that right after that would be Texas. S&C is so deep and so thick and just about everything. It really is annoying. So it's UCLA, Texas, South Carolina, LSU, only ones that could possibly upset Yukon. On Flagrin and Funny, we're giving our unfiltered takes on the biggest moments the conversations everyone's having. So whether your bracket is busted or you just want the latest on the tournament, we got you. Listen to Flakran and Funny with Carrie Champion and Jamel Hill on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Presented by Capital One, founding partner of IHeart Women's Sports.

And we're back. The morning before Ali's last day on the towers dawned especially hot. After less than an hour on the ground, he was forced to begin his long ascent, carrying only his usual burden of sand and none of salt. As he climbed, he told himself that Samhar would just have to do without. tonight. But when he reached the place where he had been hiding her extra allotment, he decided to give it all to her. He cannot bear for her to be disappointed. And what she was doing was just too important, not just to her, but to all the people of the sky. The builders were furious and they threatened to tell the leaders of his indolence. Ali didn't care that they were wrong. Soon they would

see what he and Simhar were doing, and they would have to acknowledge the truth. The clouds were shifting, the cisterns were drying, but most important of all, the great drying was drawing to an end. Instead, they caught him the next day hiding the sand he had collected, and they took him straight to the council. Al-America Daffo, the leaders said. Why are you stealing sand from the builders? How can I steal sand that I have collected? It is mine to trade as I see fit. That is not how it is done. we are all essential parts of this community. Each of us plays an important role. Some grow food, some make clothes,

some harvest water and others build. You collect sand and salt. Without these things, how can we do what is necessary to survive? When you break this chain, you steal from us all. When one of us fails, we all risk falling. Samar did not hear of Ali's banishment until she returned from her weaving the next morning.

All night she had suspected something terrible had happened to him, because he hadn't met her for supper, and the cash where he hid her sand had been empty. When she learned of his fate, she went straight to the council to beg for a change of heart. But Ali was already gone, and the leaders would not be persuaded to allow him to return. Someone stronger now wears his skin, they told her,

someone else who is willing to do the work as it has been done for generations. You have made a terrible mistake, she cried. Simhar Ibrahim, they scolded. Your job is to collect the water, not to worry about the sand or those who would steal it from us. But how can I collect water if there are no clouds? By continuing to weave, be patient for the mists will return. Every year the great drying pushes them higher, which is why we must build our towers taller. Without sand, we cannot do that.

Without water, we cannot survive. The cisterns are falling because there's no water to collect. The air is dry, this is true, but it is nothing to worry about. Soon the seasons will shift again and the clouds will return. Build your webs as you have been taught, and before you know it, the wires will once again sing a joyous song. Then you will see that we are right. Are you not a cloud weaver, after all?

I am, she declared. But it is also true that I am the thief of sand, not Alamira Codafo. I asked him to give it to me so that I might weave an extra web each night. The council members glanced one to another in puzzlement. It is not stealing when you have been using it for the betterment of the community. Your extra work is to be commended. The mist I gathered was never collected. I let it fall to the ground.

How could this be? Because I wove my lines below the system. where the nightly mists have lately formed. There is nowhere for the water to collect, they said in astonishment, for they still did not comprehend her intent. Why would you do such a wasteful thing? To prove that we must stop looking ever higher, the answer is below us.

The great drying is over. We are the people of the sky, young Semhar Abraham. But if you wish to forsake your birthright, then that is your decision. tomorrow at first light you will be taken to join your friend on the ground. It took her nearly the whole night to descend the tower in her stolen spider suit. The machine was not built for climbing but for dangling and spinning. She found Ali sitting in the shadow at the base.

His mouth opened to capture the drops that fell from the tattered remnants of a month's worth of secret webs. It was the only thing keeping him alive. each night after that she climbed to where the mists rolled in and wove a new web using the sand he brought her to spin into glass each day together they collected what water they could although most of it fell uncaptured to the ground they found the first seedling a month later and within six months the ground beneath the towers had turned into a garden she is asleep abo lemmy whispers i kiss my precious daughter on the cheek and she doesn't even stir, for she is exhausted from her hard work.

I know that when she harvests the crops each day, she looks to the skies and thinks that what we are doing here on the ground is not so exhilarating. She takes after her brother that way. Someday she will stay awake long enough to hear the story to its completion. Maybe it will be tomorrow, or perhaps next year. Maybe it will even be before the sky people's cisterns empty for good, and they realize the great drying is finally over. Then they, too, will come down from the towers,

and she will understand that this is the day for which we have been preparing. It is why I don my skin each night and weave my webs in the clouds that no longer form so high in the sky. We need the rain, but so does the earth. Ready, Samhar? My dear Sabai Alamara asks as he finishes checking my harness. I eagerly nod for the mists are already forming and they look to be especially thick tonight.

Sleep well, my children, I whisper, and dream of the weaver's song, for tonight the wires will sing with joy. The end. Spider-Mack, Spider-Mack does whatever a spider-can. Okay, maybe they're mecks, maybe they're closer to powered armor. It is hard to tell. And also, there was a termite mech for climbing to.

Hazel loves a mech and is always looking for good mecca fiction. Mech here, of course, meaning giant robot that is vaguely human or animal-shaped. But, as for about this story, I'm actually going to start with what Sal Tanpepper, the story's author, has to say about this one. Quote, So much of my work features characters forced into the darkest circumstances that when Grist challenged writers to imagine brighter outcomes for our planet's climate challenges, I was intrigued. The result of this endeavor is the Cloud Weaver's song,

which won second place in their inaugural contest. The story is set in the Horn of Africa, home to one of the world's most diverse and extreme environments in some of the most beautiful people, but also one of the most oppressive political regimes, Eritrea. The main character, Samhara and Alamira, were modeled after my dear friends, Wadasi and Yucalo, whose resilience in escaping that oppression

and making a better world for their future ancestors inspires me every day to do the same. This story is about breaking free of the shackles of colonial thinking and becoming fully engaged participants in her own destinies. And then Hazel, who helps behind the scenes with this podcast, writes, quote, We obviously can't do a whole podcast about the political history of Eritrea, but best I can gather, and to tell a complicated story very quickly, Eritrea had a strong revolutionary Marxist faction,

in the post-colonial period during the nation's liberation from Italian imperialism and later from Ethiopia from around the 1960s and 1990s. Then in the 90s, a guy who himself isn't really a Marxist comes to power within that faction and is able to totalize power for himself and runs a pretty decidedly not free country. And this is Hazel still talking about this. Knowing that the characters in this story are modeled on real people seeking refuge from war is really powerful to me and grounds the story in real lineage of resistance and relentlessness. My goodness, the way this story ties in real and imagined ancestors to craft new folklore for future ancestors, is so, so rich and layered. The imagery of the towers of climate refugees taking to the sky, striving for lofty ideals,

particularly hits in this context. Our protagonists deal with a council of elders, the powers that be, who even after the revolution have become dangerously stuck in their ways. In the end, it's on them to find their own path forward, to seek their own refuge, to cultivate their own relationship with the natural world around them, to find their own revolution. I will always respect a story that can smartly remind an audience of the shortfalls of revolution, or maybe rather imagining that the revolution is never finished, while still calling us into revolutionary action and charging us with a duty to fight for a better future. And then I guess my own take on it, I really like that it's a story. It's a story about how hard it is to convince

stubborn leaders that climate change is real, that's set after climate change is real and has happened. People are like, no, no, the clouds are always doing this thing. It'll be fine. They're just going to come back. Everything's going to be the way it's

been for 200 years and how people get caught up, even when it's like the new thing, people get caught up in immediately creating that as essentially conservatism. Yeah. And also just how frustrating it is trying to convince people that, yes, in fact, the sky is falling. Oh my God, I didn't even get it.

The sky is falling. The clouds are getting lower. But also it's somehow a story of hope. Anyway, Saul Tan Pepper, his bio. Saul Tanpepper writes in a range of speculative fiction genres. He is the author of the popular post-apocalyptic survival series, Bunker 12 and Zipocalyptic. as well as the climate fiction, Clify series,

scorched Earth and drowned Earth, a former combat medic and retired PhD bioccientist as Kenneth James Howe, the Eritrean Diaspora memoir is relentless and I will not grow downward. More about his writing can be found at his website, Tanpepper Rights, and that's like T-A-N-P-P-E-R-R-R-R-R-com.

You can also connect with him on social media. I'm Margaret Kiljoy. You can find me on the internet in a few of the places, specifically Blue Sky and Instagram, and I have a substack newsletter that comes out every week in your email inbox. It's free. I talk about the world every now and then paid subscribers get another one that's more personal. Eva does our audio engineering.

It makes everything sound really pretty, and Hazel helps with scripts and all that stuff. And yeah, fuck ice, free Palestine. Take care of each other. See you next week. It Could Happen here is a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Coolzone Media, visit our website, Coolzone Media.com, or check us out on the IHeard radio app,

Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources for It Could Happen here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com slash sources. Thanks for listening. 10, shots five in City Hall building. How could this have happened in City Hall? Somebody tell me that. A shocking.

murder. This is one of the most dramatic events that really ever happened in New York City politics. I scream. Get down. Get down. Those are shots. A tragedy that's now forgotten. End of mystery. That may or may not have been political.

It may have been about sex. Listen to Roershack. Murder at City Hall on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Lori Siegel. And on my new podcast, mostly human, I'll take you to some wild, corners of the tech world. I'm about to go on a date with an AI companion at a real world cafe

right here in New York City. There's no playbook for what to do when an AI model hallucinates a story about you. Mostly Human is your playbook for how tech can work for you. Anyone can now be an entrepreneur. Anyone can build an app. And it's very empowering. Listen to Mostly Human on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows. In 2023, Batchel3, Bachelor star Clayton Eckerd was accused of fathering twins. But the pregnancy appeared to be a hoax. You doctored this particular test twice, Ms. Owens, correct? I doctored the test ones.

It took an army of internet detectives to uncover a disturbing pattern. Two more men who'd been through the same thing. Greg, a lesbian. Michael Mancini. My mind was blown. I'm Stephanie Young. This is love trapped. Laura, Scottsdale Police.

As the season continues, Laura Owens finally faces consequences. Listen to Love Trapped podcast on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Ready for a different take on Formula One? Look no further than No Grip, a new podcast tackling the culture of motor racing's most coveted series. Join me, Lily Herman, as we dive into the under-explored pockets of F1, including the story of the woman who last participated in a Formula One race weekend, the recent uptick in F-1 romance novels, and plenty of mishap scandals and sagas that have made Formula One a delightful, decadent dumpster fire

for more than 75 years. Listen to No Grip on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This is an IHeart podcast. Guaranteed human.