Back in the early spring, when the pandemic was still in its U.S. infancy, I watched the unraveling of so many systems with a sense of dread. All I could think of were parallels between what I was seeing and some of my worser-case scenarios for the social upheaval that may result from climate change. And so I wrote this:
Long have I envisioned a day in the future, maybe 20 years from now, maybe only 10, when my daughter will come to me with a question I cannot easily answer. The afternoon will be sunny, warm, with a slight breeze, and in so many other times and places, a perfect day. Except it will be December, January. Something will be not quite right, or many things will be terribly wrong. I will know the question before she asks it; I have been imagining it for years. Why wasn’t more done, and sooner, to deal with climate change?
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