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Hard to imagine that at exactly this time last year, I drove off with the family to the neighbouring county for an Easter break and coincided our holiday with an absolute blinder of a heatwave.
The normally pallid writer who blinks mole-like in the daylight returned a week later a bronzed sex god.
Yes, hard to imagine, because I awoke this morning, drew the curtains and saw snow. Large flakes falling from the sky complementing a crow perched on my window ledge, carrion and madness and winter reflected in those eyes.
Sure, the cycles of weather change, have always changed, climates ebbing and flowing through the millennia as species appear, go extinct, do their thing.
But what a chilling example – literally – of how rapidly the weather now fluctuates, whole regions of the earth thrown into vacation confusion, as the planet tries it damnedest but fails valiantly to absorb as much Carbon Dioxide as we can throw at it.
How can farmers plan their crops? When to sow, when to reap?
The school ground bully. The oil magnate. One and the same. The distilled essence of all in a human that makes me sick. Pinching dinner money and eating caviar.
Kurt Vonnegut leans into the microphone and says:
“I have a message for future generations and that is: Please accept our apologies…”
And so it goes.
