Listening to Amy Goodman. Drinking hot coffee. Writing about watershed rehabilitation. Hearing protests erupting in Lebanon and Chile and Spain and Haiti and Iraq and Hong Kong and uncontrollable wildfires and blackouts and bailouts. The freeze last night killed off the last of my garden, save for these scrappy flowers. So I gathered them in the cold sunshine. Does anyone read captions this long? If you're still here, please know I love and miss you and I'm scared for our planet, and I need you to hold on with me.
