One Sunday in the New York Times …. With this being Father’s Day, there were full-page pictures of men standing over grills in the ads. Black and white and unchanging. Fireworks exploding in Flatbush because the kids are bored, while many sea miles away, Hong Kong sinks further into the mud. Coronavirus everywhere, in the shadows as the protestors march by.

So much scrutiny on all sides. And yet somewhere in Antarctica, on page 14 of my newspaper, the sea ice melts. In silence, slipping away.

froth of
endless waves –
summer days lost