The hottest of afternoons, and just too damn humid to go outside with a toddler.

Wet, sticky hair on the back of my neck. A brain prickling with thoughts about climate change.

The dog pants on a continuous loop, cicadas scream. A young hawk perches limply at the birdbath.

Another hurricane, another election, another crop of young high school athletes running their hearts out on a blistering track.

Still today, bright music streams out from my stereo speakers, and my 18 month-old grandson is poised like a young disco star, ready to dance.

One chubby arm extended above his head, he waits for the beat. Red-faced, he stomps and sways and twirls through the songs.

And when he moves on to his toy train set, I stay and listen to the last song, and I tear up thinking about the wasted planet.

One light, one sun
One sun lighting everyone
One world turning
One world turning everyone

One world, one home /One world home for everyone /One dream, one song/ One song heard by everyone

One love, one heart
One heart warming everyone
One hope, one joy
One love filling everyone

Today, Raffi is what I need.

Old Raffi – from a childhood 30 years ago – the same innocent melodies of hope, the same reassuring voice.

A reminder of how much has changed, and how much is exactly the same.