I ate frozen blueberries too quickly and now I’m in pain. Chilled esophagus.
The internal matches the external, at least. Chilly inside and snowy outside. Chilly inside and icy on the outside. Oh how I hope to not be icy. I wake up every morning thinking, “I will be as warm as a bread loaf. I will fan flames on heart cockles and be a furnace of love.” It never happens. Always icy.
Outside there’s a pile of snow at the end of the parking lot. And a father is perched on top of it, taking videos of his two kids sledding down the small slope. One of the kids is bundled blue, the other pink. Are they fans of Milton Bradley’s Game of Life? I wonder.
The only way to deal with the climate crisis is to make the subject a mandatory course, like math and English, that everyone would take every year from kindergarten to college. Maybe through immersion we can change the values that are driving us to destruction.
We screwed up. We are screwing up. We will continue to screw up.
I say this because I was reading about the drought in the southwest while working today. I wanted to hug every lake in the midwest—from Minnesota to Wisconsin to Michigan. Maybe that sweet belt of a river too.
And now those kids are gone.