December 29th, 2015: In response to the warm storm that brought rain to the Arctic
In the Arctic winter, darkness swallows the sound. You almost imagine you can hear the stars crackling, the way the light dances against the black sky. There are no trees to catch the wind, no birds discussing the day. The only sound is the ice, yawning, stretching against the bonds of cold, booming echoes bouncing off the sharp edges of the air.
But this night is different. A warm breeze blows through, sending shivers down the sleeping bears spines. The clouds snuff out the stars. The warmth dampens the sound. For a moment it is quieter than even the cold empty night.
And then, the first drop hits the ice, lead shot through a sheet of glass. The sky opens and empties out this burden it alone carries, thundering through a thousand years of Arctic silence.
When the rain started, I woke up in California, the sound pounding in my head. But there was no dream to shake. It was quiet here, my son’s silhouette rising and falling. I woke to this moment we fell into the future, the event horizon of a warming world.