I’m riding on a train from Providence back to New York and out the window the trees are just beginning to change. The sky is grey and, after a hot, sticky beginning to the month, temperatures plunged and today was 45 degrees cooler than Wednesday.
Last night, I stayed with friends in Westport, Massachusetts, in a beach house built from a kit in 1890, happily never updated or insulated. After eating lobster casserole at The Back Eddy in Westport and sitting in front of a propane heater to watch the Red Socks play game 1 of the ALCS, I climbed into bed wearing two wool sweaters, a hat, wool long underwear, and socks. It was 48 degrees, inside and out.
Fishermen, autumn’s chill, sweaters, swans in the pond.
On the train back to the city, watching beauty whizz by, while I read an article in NY Magazine about the recent climate report… http://nymag.com/intelligencer/2018/10/un-says-climate-genocide-coming-but-its-worse-than-that.html1 degrees bad. 2 degrees really bad. 3 catastrophic. 4 or more (towards which we are currently headed) apocalyptic.
A world without fish, coral reefs, snow, sweaters, enough food for billions… drought, fire, hurricane, mass migration, famine, starvation.
So big.
So beyond the imaginable. So far from the changing leaves, lobster, and last night’s lavender sunset. How did we let this happen?
The reality that the system of which we are part and on which we depend is failing and that no matter how quickly we change our ways and create solutions, our future will certainly look drastically different from our past and present.
A brand new baby in her mother’s arms across the aisle from me. Almost 40 years my junior. What will her world look like?
Twelves years. 2030. Twelve years is a blink, a snap of the fingers, the turn of a page, nothing. That’s how long the world’s scientists have given us to turn the boat around and avoid the iceberg, of which there won’t be any more, but you get the point.
The alarm has been sounded, the reality is here, and as I watch New England’s autumn leaves blur by, the beauty takes my breath away.
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Working nights for the first time in a long time. Woke and made my way to find caffeine, as kids got off the bus from their first day of school. Mid August, still too hot for back to school sweaters and coats, though beautiful near the harbor in San Pedro where I am sitting, drinking tea, trying to wake up. The end is in sight. Last week of shooting. Day 96. The faintest hint of fall in the air. Maybe it’s the light. Or my imagination. Only 40 minutes from Silver Lake, but feels farther. Grateful for the dark, cool hotel room that lets me sleep during the day. Yesterday I woke too early and, unable to go back to sleep, went for a drive… 
Down Harbor Blvd until it dead-ended at Warehouse 1, then past the Korean Friendship Bell, before heading up and over the Vincent Thomas bridge and Los Angeles Harbor to Long Beach. Felt like a dream as I drove past the apartment I rented years ago but, due to several location jobs, was hardly ever in; past streets that were familiar but more like I’d seen them in a movie, not my own life. Had the overwhelming feeling that I’m glad it’s now and not then, thankful that clarity does come with the years. 2018. What a strange one you’ve been. Maybe it’s that ingrained back to school rhythm I’ve yet to grow out of. Still feels like this is the actual beginning of the year. New clothes, teachers, friends, routines, projects, and hopes. 
The change of seasons in Southern California is subtle; leaves do fall, flowers do bloom, the light slants at a different angle, but you really can mistake April for September for December. My internal clock has yet to figure it out. I look forward to knowing that I can wear a sweater and bake bread in October, hibernate by a fire in January, and re-emerge in March. If you enjoy these posts, please follow Smagik.com and please share!
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