Had the air conditioning on in the car today.
It’s January 17.
76 degrees here in Atlanta, according to our car’s gauge.
A week ago, ice on the roads kept the workers away from finishing our house.
I read last week that another big chunk of Antarctica has an 11-mile crack and may be about to break off.
With the severe drought, we had no real autumn, and this winter is shaping up to be more like summer.
I will not think about the coming spring and hurricane season.
Climate change is now beyond prevention.
At 6:30, half an hour after sunset, it was still 70 degrees when I started my evening walk.
The city lit the warm air with summertime clarity.
Each shine cut through the darkness, making bright tiles.
Each light distinct and apart.
The King and Queen buildings, with no connection to the tennis courts far below, unrelated to their own reflection in the lake.
A yard full of solar lights cascading down in a waterless stream.
An office, stark lines, black lumps of chairs like night workers.
Have we, like the weather, lost our cohesion?
The official temperature was 75 degrees, a record high for Atlanta.
Today’s penny is a 1997, when the record low for Atlanta was set – 12 degrees.