Listening to radio news that the Arctic is melting, I drove through Buckhead traffic.
Cars clogged the streets as a scientist said the North Pole's old ice is almost gone.
The old ice had been there for years, the woman said on NPR satellite radio. White and mysterious, the ice long believed permanently frozen reflects sunlight back into space.
Now, with it gone, the seas will be warming in a continuous accelerating loop. The jet stream is disrupted. Rising seas, extreme weather, the long-term forecast.
Humanity shouldn't give up hope, the scientist said, half-heartedly. Emissions must be reduced, but it'll take years. Information like the Arctic Report would help threatened places cope. For the polar bears, well, good luck to them.
On a pleasant late autumn afternoon, the Christmas wreaths hung on the fences of West Paces Ferry mansions, the loss of arctic ice seemed far away. Joggers and walkers pushed themselves down the street's broad sidewalks as cars backed up at traffic lights. Each destination, each piece of the economy, joined in a mass ballet of stop and go.
West Pace Ferry - the governor's mansion, those sprawling 1930s homes designed by noted architects, the Cherokee Club, the Atlanta History Center - it could be a signature street. Yet, like so much of Atlanta, it seems haphazard.
The news continued. At a climate change conference in Poland, where coal reigns supreme, the Trump administration draws derision for pushing carbon energy, joining with Saudi Arabia, Russia and other oil producing countries.
Add crimes against humanity to the cascading charges against Trump.
On Peachtree Road, hardhat workers trudge home. Another giant building rises where for years small businesses flourished.
The drivers turn on their car headlights. Darkness is falling.