To the editor:
When my parents were born, and even in the first days of my existence, a 90-degree day in Seattle was a rarity.
The pods of orcas that made their homes in Puget Sound seemed invincible in all of their wild strength. Pink starfish specked the beaches, Madrona trees stood strong in their health, and the Cascade Mountains were cloaked in a cap of snow and ice, a robust supply of water for the flora of the summer months. Those months were dry and warm, but not yet scorching. The smoke had not yet become ubiquitous in the atmosphere of June to October. The air was clear.
I have heard that watching an entire seascape disappear is a grief like air made of lead.
Those who have seen the first ones to go, the scientists who have held watch as the corals bleach and die, they are the ones to whom we must listen. Watching a home die, an entire species vanish before your eyes, a beautiful place disappear from the Earth forever — that is hell.
We must not let it happen here.