One Star At A Time
August 24, 2025 8:25 a.m. I wake at 3 am and lay still for 20 minutes, hoping to fall asleep again. The river has run dry from the drought and with the water almost gone, I hear nothing other than a solitary barred owl calling from deep in the forest. Usually I can hear the fast moving currents of the river around the island behind the house. Most often I can hear loons or echoes of ducks in the estuary. I think of the trout, the pickerel, the gaspereau, the eels, the birds, the muskrat, the beaver, the river otter. I think of the countless forms of life that rely solely on our beautiful river. I have been away from here for almost two weeks and, in that time, the waterfalls up river have vanished. Nothing is left of their presence but the enormous brown rocks that form the fast-moving eddies and pools that the kayakers and fishermen like so much. This climate catastrophe deeply frightens me. It is hard to imagine the future devastation that we are in for. There is no sleep for me...