This morning on the river, flat gray sky, turbulent gray water. Started out warm, though damp enough to be chilly after awhile. "Forward" is an interesting concept on this part of the river. As the tide changes, front and back, upstream and down, keep reversing. In a sense, past and future, at least for the river. Twice a day.

Can't watch the water anymore, of course, without thinking of the people who were, or weren't, watching the water on Sunday. For 120,000 of them, the future suddenly vanished. For 5 million more, apparently, the past has suddenly re-ordered the future. As it always does, but so much more violently, this time.

We think we have a handle; we think we can control what's coming. We can't. We can't even see it.

All we can ever do is try to help in the aftermath.

So I leave all of us with this wish for the new year: that we never lose the ridiculous urge to keep on throwing stranded starfish back into the ocean, one by one. Even when the ocean itself changes its meaning.

Peace, and good luck.