And today the bright red and yellow leaves lie under snow.  Fall seemed not quite done but the first of winter came on anyway.  I did manage that last afternoon in the grasses under the oak before the snow came, an afternoon made sweeter knowing it was probably the season's last. The poignancy of endings.

A hurricane  finally convinced the mayor of a major city of global warming's truth, a high price to pay even for a billionaire. Grendel's far in the house does a monster need to be before the occupants believe in its truth?

History, that time and time again phenomena, is there for the taking and mostly free but we seem to learn only the smallest snatches from it. I say we insisting on my own inclusion most sincerely.

Our species evolution seems determined mostly by technological advance, from the first clasped stick millennium ago to today's vast array of gadgets.  We are tool-makers, tool-lovers.  We are fools for tools.

Our tool-loving selves have created an environmental monster.  Will this same propensity bail us out?  Will we avert disaster, annihilation even, by the making of yet another, this time better, tool?  Maybe.  After all, the tool is where we excel.

I would like to think the change would be love. But then I  also like to think our primary purpose is to care for one another.  But that is not a truth history has verified.

One of my own great favorites for circumventing the truth of history is:  this time it will be different.  And what the hell, maybe this time it will.  Maybe our fascination with the opposable thumb will be replaced with a fascination for the beating heart.  A loving heart. 

Hope, shining through as clearly as red leaves encased in snow.  As fragile, as distinct and as undeniable.  And maybe what we're truly best at after all.  Hope.