Research suggests we are nearing a time when there will be precious few places in the world with enough snow to hold a Winter Olympics.
Things are changing that fast.
It is remarkable to think that piles and piles of snow could shift from being an enormous pain in the ass to being a rare and amazing sight reserved for only a few of the planet’s people.
I wish I could say I was doing something to stop this tragedy from unfolding, but my first response to any calamity is to write a parody of one of some great author’s work. Not a very effective strategy to slow climate change, but in my defense I can say that I was not driving a gas guzzling SUV all the while I struggled with the task of destroying Robert Frost’s masterpiece.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
He does not come in winter, though;
The town folks easily get stuck
On nights with just a little snow.
My horse was once a pickup truck.
I had to sell it. Drat the luck.
There’s no more gasoline or oil.
Just horsey rumps and horsey muck.
The world is hot. The oceans boil.
The glaciers melt. Our treasures spoil
It’s something grand to watch the snow.
So strange to see it hide the soil.
That’s why I stopped here for the show
For generations long ago
And future ones who’ll never know
A time when woods could fill with snow.