February 28th, 2018. 8.40pm. It’s dark outside.

And it’s snowing. Copiously.

The heating in my flat is on max.

Outside it’s -4℃.

The thermometer in my bedroom says 15.5℃.

In the Arctic, it’s 20℃ above average.

I wonder what would happen.

If there was a power cut.

Or if the heating stopped working.

I hear that in Ireland the stores have been running out of bread.

I decide to go outside and see what it feels like.

Eerily quiet. A blanket of soft snow covers everything. I swear it also dampens all the noises of the city. There is something fascinating about London when it’s covered in white like this.

All the cars that normally clog the roads now move slowly, tentatively.

Barely anyone is outside.

Back to this morning

I wake up to find my neighbourhood tinted in white.

Then my daughter wakes up.

She has never seen anything like this before. So I ask her if she wants to go out and play in the snow. I will be a bit late to work, and its O.K.

We put our boots on, and I take her to the local park. She loves walking on the fresh show, excitedly stepping here and there and checking her footsteps. We enjoy looking at our shadows, stretching on the white snow as the sun is rising behind us.

Time for work. I hop on my bike, and make my way carefully to the tube station. With the snow, everything moves at a slower pace.

I get on the tube — very crowded as usual. These days I find commuting in London a bizarre experience. Everyone is glued to their phones, and I wonder. What are they thinking about? Surely there are little voices inside their heads, telling them this is not normal. But, these days I know, climate silence is a thing.

My train is delayed. A signal failure a few stops ahead. So here we are. A whole bunch of strangers, sharing a carriage to a common destination: work. No one talks. Phones are our overlords after all. We shall not ignore them. I also read on my phone. My attention is well directed at the events that are unfolding in the world.

Kings Cross, my stop. Very crowded as usual. As I walk to the office, I notice that there are no homeless people on the pavements. I hope that they have found a warmer place to stay for today.

The office is very quiet. I peek at the window and see the snow falling. I’m quite fascinated by the snowflakes. They let the wind carry them in different directions, drifting aimlessly. They don’t seem preoccupied with bills, mortgage, school, deadlines, whatever. I like them.

Time for lunch. I talk with two colleagues about how industrial agriculture is affecting natural ecosystems around the world. I learn about the impact of vanilla plantations in Madagascar. And I tell them about when I was driving in Costa Rica. I was disconcerted to see palm oil plantations extending for miles and miles along the highway. Just two examples of how big corporations easily persuade governments to sell away large areas of land. They make huge profits while destroying natural habitats and making people poorer.

We talk a bit about mainstream news. I suggest they pay closer attention to what’s really going on around the world. I ask them if they think this weather is normal.

I explain. This is happening because warm air from the Atlantic managed to make its way into the polar vortex, and break it apart. So now the eastern states of America are too warm, the western ones too cold, and a big cold snap makes its way from the Arctic into Russia and Europe.

I make sure they understand that this is human-made. And I recall all the hurricanes that stormed around the Atlantic in 2017. Also human made, beyond doubt.

After all, there is overwhelming, abundant and indisputable evidence of this on the Internet. One just has to tune in.

After my little revelation, I let them ponder about what it means, for them, personally. Words give way to some silence.

I always thought silence is very good for thinking.

We say a few more words. One of them is extinction.

I think that to some level they understand where this is going.

“Back to work”, I proclaim ironically. We laugh.

The afternoon goes quickly, and I see that the snow persists outside.

Time to get back home. It’s chilly outside.

I can see the colors of the sunset behind the big clock at Kings Cross station.

I look at the white fresh snow. It seems so pure.

Then I see the grey dirty snow on the roads and pavements. Just like with nature, our presence contaminates everything. Even the snow.

Back on the tube. Hush hush. Chop chop. Quick quick. Everyone wants to go home. The same story repeats. Everyone gets their dose of Internet, conveniently delivered with a magic device.

The tube stops on a few stations above ground, and a few stray snowflakes make their way into the carriages when the doors open. The cold wind blows in.

On my bike again. I‘m extra careful on the icy roads, as I wonder if this is the worst we will get this week.

Back home, I feel accomplished about my successful commute.

There is food in the fridge. I am grateful for my dinner and I enjoy it.

My home is quiet tonight.

I always thought silence is very good for thinking.

Read Next: Thoughts on a Warm November Night.

Bonus: Nobody is Coming to Save Us From Climate Change (infographic)

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