The guilty pleasure of a sunny, warm Ides of December. Forty degrees on an early, sun-drenched morning, Roger riding his bicycle along the lake as if it were June, a rogue dandelion sprouting in the grass, and Rabia and me squinting beneath the intense orb of light framed by blue.

Lovely. Wrong on so many levels, but lovely.

We behold such a day in the knowledge that climate change hangs over our heads and that we humans, across the globe, are not doing enough, fast enough, to moderate it. Still, only yesterday I rode my bicycle with a 37-degree wind slapping my face, while today I will ride in 52-degree sunshine.

That is the gnarly knot we find ourselves in, isn’t it? Reaping moments of joy and enjoyment, knowing with unnatural intimacy about the suffering and plain old human evil whipping raw wounds upon so........

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