Climate Change

First of March – ND #83

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Last Sunset of February 2022 – Photo: L. Weikel

First of March

Tonight is the last night of February, so by the time you’re reading this, it’ll be the first day of March. Time does march relentlessly forward, doesn’t it? But you also know what it means to be the first day of the month! It’s Perelandra time! I want to remind us all to take those fewer than five minutes or so required to engage in the Perelandra EoP Biodiversity Process tomorrow. You have all day to do it.

Goodness knows, any effort to reach out and work with like-minded people who care about the environment and want to promote balance and minimize the effects of climate change is a worthwhile activity. And in truth, I am sure it’s the only way we’re going to instigate change.

Indeed, we’re seeing the goosebump-raising power of countries linking hands and declaring Putin’s actions as 100 % unacceptable. The manner in which almost the entire world is rising up to show solidarity with Ukraine is heartening. It’s certainly giving me hope for humanity. I love when I see people rise up spontaneously on behalf of what is right.

Brutus – Photo: L. Weikel

Time

Speaking of time whizzing by, I think it’s time for me to give a Pupdate. It’s hard to believe these little munchkins will be seven months old the day after tomorrow, but it’s true.

They are such a joy – even when acting like the equivalent of teenagers! But the greatest gift of all is probably the cuddles and unconditional love.

It was so wonderful to hear that Poland opened its borders to Ukrainian refugees and lifted the restrictions on bringing pets. What a profound act of love and understanding. I can’t imagine having to leave my puppies (or kitties – even Cletus) behind if we had to flee. Allowing people to bring their pets feels incredibly compassionate. The horrors that Ukrainians are dealing with right now are hard enough to imagine. But to have to leave your beloved pets behind?

It seems we’re seeing a lot more surprising instances of kindness in the way most people are behaving in this conflict. Kindness, compassion, solidarity, ferocity. In many ways it feels like we’re seeing the absolute best of humanity.

Sadly, we’re also seeing – I’m not sure what. Madness? If it weren’t so horrific (and unpredictably precarious and uncertain) Putin’s behavior would be tragically sad. Perhaps it is both anyway.

Sleepy Pacha – Photo: L. Weikel

All Over the Place

I realize this post is hopping from one thought to another. I hope you enjoy my photos of Pacha and Brutus. And I urge you to engage in the Biodiversity Process tomorrow.

I wonder what the Crossroads from yesterday will bring to us this week…

Brutie – notice the ears – Photo: L. Weikel

(T+83)

Don’t Look Up – ND #23

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Photo: L. Weikel

Don’t Look Up

We just finished watching Don’t Look Up on Netflix.  I’m still digesting it.

It’s not as if it’s a complicated plot or sophisticated premise. No, what I’m still digesting is how uncomfortable it made me feel. At least, discomfort was an initial feeling I experienced as the movie unfolded.

I had a rough idea of the plot of the movie, so the likenesses drawn to recent infamous figures were unsurprising. But the overall impact of that part of the satire was uncomfortable. (Satire doing its job, I guess.) It rang too true. In some ways, at least at first, it almost felt like a documentary.

Futility

What’s most disturbing is the inanity of society and the garbage that’s fed to us via so many outlets. While we know many people devote way too much time to staring at their screens, it’s still hard to look at that screen time being depicted as the pathetic mind-mushing tool that it is. And the vapid television programs! Oh my goodness, I just wanted to scream.

Hmm. Re-reading that last paragraph, I’m loathe to use the word ‘devote’ in the second sentence, given the sacredness with which I approach the concept of devotion. And yet I think it should remain precisely because, in so many ways, people are bastardizing the concept of devotion and applying it to objects or activities that actually disconnect them from all that is sacred or precious.

Yet again, the topsy-turvy, inside out reality we currently live in was on display. How do we counter craven power-seeking and money grubbing?

Photo: L. Weikel

Big Issues

This movie’s catastrophic event comes from outside of us – at the edge of our solar system, to be precise. But the analogies to the myriad big issues we have screaming for our attention (to just LOOK AT them, perhaps, and choose NOT to look away?) of our own making were obvious.

It’s unsettling to contemplate the reality of potentially losing everything we have here on Earth. Yet for me I think what’s most maddening is that we still have the ability to make some huge course corrections – but continue to fiddle around the edges.

I truly believe we still have time. But does it fit into our electoral schedule? I don’t know. The sense of urgency we should all feel about voting rights (here in the U.S.) bears directly upon the urgency demanded by climate change. We’re playing with fire right now. We can’t let those beholden to the (literal) dinosaur-based energy paradigm delay and obfuscate one more day. The tears rolling down my cheeks at the end of the movie were real, as was my desire to transmute my discomfort and sense of futility into action.

I believe the coming year has all the makings of seismic shifts in attitude and strategies. The sighted must take the wheel before it’s too late. Watch* and see if you know what I mean.

Feeling Passionate – Photo: K. Weikel

*and don’t miss the Tuvan shaman at the end of the movie, either.

(T+23)

Smiling – ND #9

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DECEMBER Tug-o-war & Visitor – Photo: L. Weikel

Smiling

Even though I feel pressed for time this evening since there’s no way I’m going to get this published by 1:00 a.m., I know it’s a feeling I need to let go. And the reason I need to let it go is because I have to tell you how much I’m smiling inside. Even though this may not get sent out at the requisite witching hour, I’m grateful that I’m writing it at all.

I’m finding it hard to articulate what I mean. Let me back up a little.

This afternoon I was playing with Pacha and Brutus, all three of us drinking in the unbelievably mild weather. It had to have been in the mid-60s today, and darn close to hitting 70.

One of our favorite games is a rudimentary form of fetch, wherein I chuck a squeaker dog toy dressed up to look like an animal as far as I can toward our little barn and they run pell-mell after it. Most of the time they chase and tackle each other, ripping the toy out of each other’s mouths, and eventually bring it back to me for another toss. There’s a lot of taunting and teasing that goes on as well. And then there’s the inevitable tug-o’-war, since the toy has floppy legs that lend themselves to puppies digging in their heels and refusing to unclench their jaws.

An Unexpected Sighting

I’d tossed the squeaker creature approximately 358 times, when they stopped halfway back to me and engaged in an epic battle of tug-o’-war. I don’t know what got into them, but neither was yielding. When I started walking toward them to yank it from both of them (would I do that?!), I saw something completely unexpected: the brilliant head of a dandelion peeking out at me from amongst the piles of leaves and assorted other remnants of autumn detritus.

Trained from my 1111 Devotion experience, I had my phone in the pouch of my sweatshirt, the ready to snap a photo at a moment’s notice. As can be seen from the photo above, not only did I capture the resilience of our December Dandelion, I also managed to get a shot of the ongoing battle that was ensuing.

Back to My Gratitude

All of which leads me back to what I was so inartfully trying to articulate at the beginning of this post. Yeah, I’m posting late, so now this won’t get into my readers’ email inboxes until Saturday. But in the grand scheme of things, and remembering how sad I was feeling two weeks ago (when I was in the midst of my posting hiatus), there’s a smile beaming out from my heart center.

Who’d have thought I’d find a dandelion blooming in the midst of our lawn on December 16th? And why in the world would it make me…smile?

While the long-term implications of this (not to mention the devastating tornadoes and storms of last week and yesterday in the South and Midwest) might indicate the deeply troubling reality of accelerating climate change, the simultaneous beauty and worry generated by this sunny countenance is more meaningful because I can share it with you.

When I saw that dandelion and ‘had’ to take a photo of it, all I could think about was sharing it with you. It’s odd! We’re five days or so from the solstice and the shortest day of the year! And the fact that I was walking on the grass in bare feet was weird too. (In more ways then one, I know.)

But what mattered to me was the prospect of sharing it with all of you. In other words, I’m grateful we’ve renewed this invisible but meaningful connection. The fact that you’re ‘out there’ and we’re sharing these moments matters to me. You make me smile.

11 Mourning Doves also decided to hang out with us – Photo: L. Weikel

(T+9)

Take Shelter – Day 1025

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Before the tornado warnings – Photo: L. Weikel

Take Shelter

Well. I’m not sure where to start this evening. At the moment, the small, barely noticeable creek across the road from my house sounds like a roiling cataract. Sirens plaintively called out a couple of times tonight – a worrisome sound any time (especially when one lives out in the country). But they sounded especially lonely and dire as our cell phones simultaneously bleated out tornado warnings – entreating us to take shelter below ground, if possible.

I’m sorry. Where do we live? Last I looked, it was amidst the farms, fields, and woodlands of Pennsylvania. Not Kansas or Oklahoma. Yet here we are. From what I can tell, it sounds like there may have been two or three tornadoes touching down in our area earlier tonight.

Here’s a snippet of an astonishing video of a tornado winding its way up the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River just tonight. Is it because we usually see videos of tornadoes touching down and moving along vast acres of flat land that we have a distorted sense of how fast these beasts actually move? Watching that video feels unnatural.

Quite honestly, it feels like everything – not just the weather – is totally askew and out of balance.

Photo: L. Weikel

Speaking of Catastrophic Events

In addition to my profound concern over everyone who is impacted by the torrential rains, the terrifying and devastating tornadic activity, and the current and impending flooding that will only get worse over the next few days, there’s…Texas.

Honest to goodness, the complete disregard of the Constitutional rights of women in Texas makes me want to throw up. Inelegant, I’m the first to admit. But the unbelievable cruelty of empowering vigilante-citizens to essentially hunt women for a $10,000 bounty is insane. Add to that the American Taliban’s* determination that anyone aiding any woman who may be seeking an abortion beyond six weeks gestation can also be sued?

It is no wonder we needed to withdraw from Afghanistan. Good grief. We have our very own American brand of dehumanizing and debasing women, thank you very much. Perhaps we should mind our own ability to treat women as sovereign citizens with equal rights before we preach it anywhere else.

Not a creek, not a stream – Photo: L. Weikel

Crumbling Foundations

Remember how I’ve commented a number of times in the blogs of 2021 that this year is all about navigating the astrological phenomenon of ‘Saturn squaring Uranus?’ The old paradigms being shattered by sudden blows to their foundations? Unexpected transformations of traditional ways of being and ‘the way things have always been done?’

Well here we are. We are receiving absolute clarity on two major issues facing our country and the world:

Climate change is real.  And oppression and subjugation of women is an agenda paramount to the (not my father’s) Republican party.

The time is now to save ourselves. And it’s stunningly clear (if not a sad commentary on what we all knew if we’ve been paying attention) – we cannot rely on the Supreme Court of the United States to enforce the rights of women.

Think about the ramifications of that statement.

If we don’t take action now to defend what we know is right and true, more than the foundations of our homes will be swept away.

*affiliate link

(T-86)

Opportunity – Day 1022

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Shark – Opportunity – The Ocean Oracle by Susan Marte

Opportunity

The cards I drew last night for us as a collective yielded Jellyfish – Hidden Gifts as the primary with Shark – Opportunity as the foundation card.

I’m still pondering the perfection of the Jellyfish card’s message in light of the swirling miasma of events we’re witnessing in the world around us. And yeah…lucky are we if we are, in fact, only ‘witnessing’ any or all of it. Because to be experiencing any of the horror firsthand must feel like your entire world is being ripped out from under you.

It doesn’t matter where we look, in what direction, toward which catastrophe, or in which country, there just seems to be a cascade of awfulness. So the fact that the cards that presented themselves were Hidden Gifts and Opportunity begs reflection.

Conundrum

The whole little vignette relayed by Shark in The Ocean Oracle (set out below) has a vaguely familiar feel to it. Perhaps you’ll recognize in it another story that’s often mentioned when people feel forsaken. And it’s probably safe to say that there are thousands (if not millions) of people who feel forsaken right about now.

And just like last night’s message about Hidden Gifts, neither the Opportunity nor the Hidden Gifts are necessarily obvious as such. In fact, it’s likely they’re not. Who could possibly think that any of the extreme circumstances we’re facing in our country and world today could be considered either gifts or opportunities? And yet…

Shark’s Message

“Shark – OPPORTUNITY

The Story

Once upon a time in the watery depths of a great ocean long ago forgotten, there lived a community of sea creatures. They lived together in peaceful harmony. Their community was abundant and prosperous and provided for all of their needs. One day a neighboring shark came by, telling them of an opportunity that would enhance their lives even more. Since the community could not fathom what else they may need, they let the opportunity pass them by. The shark swam away. Time passed and the community started to hear about other communities, who had taken a chance with the opportunities the shark offered them, and how their communities had become even more abundant and prosperous.

The shark came again to the community, and again offered them an opportunity to enhance their lives. They were hesitant. They knew what they had and they were happy. Could there really be more out there? When the shark came for the third time the community decided to take the opportunity presented to them, this time not letting their fear stop them. Although at first it was scary and there was some hesitation, when the community whole-heartedly embraced the opportunity, they found their community grew and expanded in ways they never dreamed possible.

The Messages

Is opportunity knocking? Be aware it does not knock forever. If you do not take the opportunity it could pass you by. Is this an acceptable option? This card could be a reminder that there are opportunities and you need to grab hold and shape what comes your way and make it yours and make what you will of it. Opportunities may or may not be straight forward. They may be in the murky depths. They may come at dawn or dusk or be just out of vision or tangible reach. Opportunities abound. Take the fullness of the possibility and open up to the potential it holds.”

My Take

While some of us may be lucky enough at this moment in time to be witnessing as opposed to directly experiencing the ravages of Covid or Hurricane Ida or the terror of trying to escape Afghanistan or wildfires or earthquakes, it’s only a matter of time before we all get a taste of direct experience. If nothing else, we all live on and share Mother Earth. Climate change, like a virus, is blind to any of the superficial reasons we may tell ourselves that ‘it can’t happen to us.’

But there are hidden gifts in these tragedies. There are immediate lessons we can learn in each moment. And there are opportunities that demand to be explored and embraced if we – the community of humanity – are to thrive. But we must open our eyes without delay.

(T-89)

Where Am I? – Day 1004

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Sunset 10 Aug 2021 – Photo: L.Weikel

Where Am I?

“Wuh – what? Where am I?” That’s a mini reenactment of my experience about five minutes ago. As many of you know, I mostly tend toward being a ‘night owl,’ which enables me to hunker down to write my posts starting at about 11:00 p.m. or later. I’ve tried many times to begin writing them earlier, only to dump almost all of those sad early attempts into my drafts folder, never to be seen again.

So it’s been my lot to exercise trust over these many days, weeks, months, and – wow – it’s now true that I can literally say years and not be hyperbolic! Every evening, I exercise trust that something will get written. While I may not crank out stellar prose, it’ll at least get the job done in the moment.

Fast forward to ten minutes ago when I was awakened by <<shudder>> my own snoring. Good grief! This aging thing isn’t pretty.

It’s the Weather

I’ll blame it on the weather. Why not?

The last two days have lain a blanket of oppression over our area. I break into a sweat just thinking about walking outside. It seems ironic that it’s actually hard to breathe on the East Coast right now primarily because of the amount of water in the air. The humidity is so high, it’s as if we’re breathing through a sponge strapped to our faces like the monster in Alien. (Dating myself here, woops.)

I say it’s ironic to have so much water in the air here on the East Coast when our loved ones on the West Coast (and other areas of the world, to be sure) are literally burning up. The air out there is so dry that it practically spontaneously combusts. I can’t imagine living through that for any length of time, and I apologize for complaining about the humidity here, when I realize you would give anything for it.

And then there’s the Midwest, which is just basically choking on the smoke wafting through the atmosphere of their states, burning eyes and clinging inside throats. Awful enough if you have a home with air conditioning. Horrifying to contemplate if you’re housing impaired or can’t afford air conditioning.

Who Are We Kidding?

I’m going to guess ourselves.

But I’m also going to refuse to accept the notion that we are powerless to stop the chaos unfolding around us. We started this thing; we’ve enabled this thing; and we can not only stop it but turn this thing around.

I truly believe that if we just even reach out to Mother Earth, she will do everything she can to reach back out to us. What I mean by that is that we must dig deep and we must try. We must resist the temptation to yield to despair and assume there’s no hope. While it may not seem as though our efforts will yield the magnitude of change we desire (and think is unquestionably necessary) I urge us all to give Nature – Mother Earth herself – an opportunity to match our efforts, to work in partnership with us (if we would only just try).

Here’s an interesting article I just read. It may be from 2016, but it feels relevant now, given the overwhelm so many of us are feeling right now. And I’m curious to read the book coming out next month from Paul Hawken, Regeneration, Ending the Climate Crisis in One Generation*.

But right now, I think I need to go to sleep.

*affiliate link

(T-107)

Disappointment – Day 980

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Where are they? – Photo: L. Weikel

Disappointment

Sometimes disappointment creeps up on us. It stealthily tiptoes up behind us and jumps out of the bushes when we’re least expecting it. And sometimes we see it coming a mile away – maybe even miles and miles away – but we hope against hope that we’re wrong.

It seems to me there’s more than our share of disappointment in the air at the moment. From witnessing the dramatic shift in the way our system of government conducts itself (or not) to those in power failing to be held accountable for egregious behavior. It’s a disappointment that consequences seem to be visited only upon regular citizens. Masterminds and master manipulators need not worry for a moment. All will be well. Nothing will change in their lives.

Just Weather

And then there’s the disappointment we sentient beings experience when we take a step back and honestly look at the climate alterations that are becoming more and more obvious. How long will it take before those living out west start to realize this is their ‘new normal?’ Yet another ‘heat dome’ settling in over our mostly western states and parts of Canada (the fourth in five weeks!), bringing Idaho of all places their 20th consecutive day reaching 100 degrees or more.

Of course, we all know it’s just weather. It’s certainly not climate change. And even if the climate is changing, it’s not our fault. And since it’s not our fault then we don’t – indeed, shouldn’t – do anything to mitigate it. Thus, we mustn’t reduce or eliminate our use of fossil fuels because (a) China might not do it; and (b) it’s not our fault.

It’s all about blame. And money. And refusing to take responsibility. Who cares if we can’t breathe? Or that we have no water to drink?  Most people (in this country, at least) are sure, deep down, that somebody will take care of us. Somebody will ‘save’ us. And they will, maybe – for a price.

Yeah, that ‘rugged individualism’ looks a lot different when it hits your home. It’s a disappointment people can’t see the truth of that.

Little Things, Too

And then there are the small disappointments in our lives. The personal ones. Witnessing people we know and love refusing to take precautions to keep themselves (and all of us) healthy. Listening to justifications that make no sense because they’re not grounded in reality. Wanting to find common ground again because we care enough to desire a conversation – but finding no traction anywhere anymore.

Or at a very basic level, just wishing we could see our besties again – and having them not show up anymore. Spartacus experienced that profoundly on our walk today, which you can see reflected in these photos.

We haven’t had a chance to take our walk-around (4 mile trek) in several days. It’s just been ‘too damn hot’ – or too rainy. But today we were able to take that longer route and Spartacus was palpably delighted, straining at his harness, yearning to see his ‘buds’ – which I’m not sure is a friendship or more a smack-talking hound fest. Either way, it gets Spart’s adrenalin pumping and he loves his wolfhound neighbors.

Spartacus was the embodiment of disappointment when not a wolfhound was to be seen tearing across the fields toward us, barking in a frenzy of terror-inducing menace. We’ll have to try again tomorrow.

The Embodiment of Disappointment – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-131)

Green Again – Day 977

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Tributary to a Tributary to Tinicum Creek – Photo: L. Weikel

Green Again

My post last night was ‘hot,’ I know. It’s upsetting to contemplate just how out of balance Earth’s climate is at the moment and how much worse it may become in a very short period of time. As a result, I’m proffering this collection of thoughts and photos to counter the images of a burning planet from last night’s post and to bookend it with the cooler, if not also troubling, content of the post from the night before last. In short, I’m back to green again.

My walk the other day along a secluded and seldom-traveled road that meanders along the haphazard twists and turns of a creek bed was deeply restorative. It’s hard not to feel the juiciness of life being replenished when surrounded by so many shades of emerald, lime, and forest green.

The burble of water tumbling over a rocky streambed comforts me and brings a deep sigh of peace to my soul. I probably don’t need to tell you, those of you who’ve stuck with me on this 1111 Devotion journey, the number of times I’ve been consoled by the creeks that surround my home (but especially, of course, my beloved Tohickon). I doubt if I can ever express my gratitude for ‘life’ leading us to this particular place to raise our sons and cultivate our marriage.

Rocks and Moss – Photo: L. Weikel

A Pause

I’m tempted to take this post in a direction I wasn’t intending when I began writing this evening. That would be the direction of railing against fracking and the intrusion of pipelines near and through the land I love so much both here where I live and also in Northampton County and across the Lenape Sipu (Delaware River) in Hunterdon County, New Jersey.

The devastation to our natural habitats by companies feeding the climate change that’s resulting in unprecedented flooding, wildfires, and drought is supported by the highest court in the land. That’s hard to accept.

Those very same forces are demanding that we return to the Jim Crow era of our country’s history.

But perhaps I should just go back to taking a pause from it all. Let’s take a moment instead to revel in the simple, abundant beauty of the many shades of green in our world.

Mosses close-up – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-135)

Cooked – Day 976

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On Fire – Photo: L. Weikel

Cooked

In contrast to the emerald wonderland and water, water everywhere that we’re (for the most part) lucky to have here on the East Coast, conditions couldn’t be more dire elsewhere. Indeed, the real truth is that right here in our own country, we’re cooked.

It’s hard to miss the wildfires that are raging out of control in the west. Right now, in addition to the extraordinary heat domes that are trapping our brothers and sisters under oppressive, day-after-day temperatures of over 100 degrees, there are over 700 more wildfires already being fought this year than there were at this time last year.

By Far the Worst

But by far the worst (well, I guess that’s debatable – especially if its your home that’s been razed by an inferno), is the fact that millions of sea creatures off the Pacific Northwest coast were literally turned into a global-sized clambake. It’s disgusting and tragic, but the effect of the heat dome that killed so many people in Oregon about ten days ago also killed millions – perhaps up to a billion – sea creatures as well.

And just today, I read an article that warns that Chinook salmon are literally in danger of extinction as a result of the heat waves occurring out west right now. The temperature of the Sacramento River has become so warm that the salmon are dying before they can get back to their spawning grounds.

Think about this: they’re all dying before they can reproduce. This isn’t some gradual die-off as these creatures ingest pesticides or battle other human-produced challenges to their lives. This is a drastic, all-at-once event. Not only will it radically impact indigenous people who rely on these salmon for much of their economy (and food) but also our nation and beyond, both for their food source and their part in the overall ecosystem.

And that doesn’t even include the simple grievous horror of losing these fish forever.

Our House Is On Fire

Our planet is out of balance. What is it going to take before our representatives, who have the power to enact sweeping and essential changes to the way our country deals with these existential threats, stop dithering and start facing climate change head-on? What’s it going to take before we the people open our eyes and wake the hell up?

We are facing some truly enormous threats as a country and as a planet. The time for denial and lies must end immediately. Perhaps a few very rich, very powerful people will be able to launch themselves into space when the Earth becomes uninhabitable. Yippee for them.

But the rest of us? If we don’t seize control over where we’re headed and demand meaningful and dramatic change now? We’re cooked.

Eye of the Fire – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-135)

Deluge – Day 971

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Raining into the pit – Photo: L. Weikel

Deluge

The disparities in our climate conditions across our country are growing every day. I can’t believe the west is expected to be trapped under yet another ‘heat dome’ this weekend. Of course, as oppressive and debilitating as those temperatures are, they’re made even worse by the lack of water. And yet here we are in Pennsylvania experiencing major rains and even a deluge last night.

Which comes first? The drought or the hellish temperatures? I don’t know – but I do know it seems like the impact of climate change is unfolding all around us at a cataclysmic rate.

Rain water from last night’s deluge – Photo: L. Weikel

What Fell From the Sky?

When I woke up this morning the evidence that we’d had a wild night of torrential storms and rain was everywhere. Leaves and branches stripped off trees. Limbs and entire trees blocking roads and taking out electrical wires and cables.

I’ve been emptying our fire pit of the water that collects in it after each storm. It’s a convenient pluviometer, albeit not as accurate as more conventional rain gauges. Sometimes, however, quantity isn’t the only quality being measured.

Which leads me to this morning’s discovery. Take a look at the water that accumulated in the two small coolers I’d left outside last night. It almost looks like strong tea or tobacco juice. It’s in both coolers. There were no tree branches or anything else above either of the containers – only clear sky. Nor were either of them near any drainage spouts.

And then I looked at the fire pit. Good grief! What in the world feel from the sky last night? The water in that fire pit was opaque. And the fire pit had been completely empty at the start of the evening. Not a flake of ash nor any leftover rain from the last storm.

This was bone dry before I went to bed last night – Photo: L. Weikel

Troubling

I’m wondering in all seriousness about the color of our rainfall last night. Why in the world did it range from golden brown to walnut black? And did it fall from the sky that way? It sure seems like it did.

To give context, I’ve included at the beginning of this post a photo of rain falling into the fire pit exactly one month ago (June 8th). The difference in the color of the water falling from the sky is obvious.

I wonder if this has any significance whatsoever. It sure doesn’t feel right.

(T-140)