When my grandma was young in Oak City, Utah, she skated on the frozen ponds in winter. The irrigation system spotted the desert with ponds, many of them fairly deep. They used to drive pickup trucks right out into the middle of the frozen ponds, and skate around. I saw her old collection of ice skates, all for the teeny-tiny feet of that generation.
Nowadays, ice grows in a thin ring around the edges of the ponds, but doesn’t come at all close to reaching from side to side across the wide centers. I can’t imagine it thick enough to support the weight of skaters and trucks.
Could it really have been that much colder, only 80, 90 years ago?
Our lives on this earth be as thin as the ice.
You may think I’m talking about climate change, and I am. But also, much more than that. Consider: All is change. Climate change. I change. You change. Nothing is certain.
Out of all the vast expanse of the universe, all the planets and stars and comets and dust whereupon our constellation of consciousness could briefly settle – here we are. Here we are. Now THAT is thin. That’s some thin ice right there.