The Sun Rises and Sets

Spring morning sky for the Vernal Equinox. New York City 2022.

On the first day of spring, the sentient world is holding its breath as the devastation in Ukraine grinds on. In this essay by Thomas Freidman, he outlines why Putin’s plan D may be on Europe’s doorstep, “If Putin’s plans A, B and C all fail, though, I fear that he would be a cornered animal and he could opt for plan D — launching either chemical weapons or the first nuclear bomb since Nagasaki.”

Putin’s war has already threatened the food supply for millions, as the world’s third largest breadbasket is being decimated by one man’s hubris and deceit. The scale of devastation, arguably occasioned not simply by one old man’s pique but the noose of fossil fuel dependency Putin can still dangle, was not an obvious consequence of global warming but here it is.

In an African game farm, older male Rhinos can become rogue, murdering younger and female animals of the species. The only solution is to “extract” them from the system. Putin has notoriously insulated him against any enemies of “his” state.

We are engaged in a terrible chess game in which time for adaptation to what fossil fuel dependency has wrought is the prize. Who will win? I only see losers.

And yet. I and my colleagues continue to make art. The sun comes up and sets. The first line of the last paragraph of the last chapter of my book is, “There will be another time.” But as someone recently told, the caveat to one door closes and another opens, is that “it’s hell in the hallway.” This is going to be a very long hallway.