We walk to the island. The children take turns pulling.
Akiva does not need to drink much water in winter: he eats the snowballs from his fleece mittens. When I notice his once-white chewing gum has become pink, I realize he has side-stepped the food-chain of microplastics consumption assumed in oceanic plastics pollution studies and gone directly to the source. I wonder how many thousands of plastic microfibers he has consumed on this walk. I feel helpless.
At the island, the tire swing, high above the river in summer, hangs low above the snow.
Iris steps on—
—swing!
Akiva, shorter rounder and nearly as heavy, is more timid on the swing.
Iris pushes him gently.
He smiles bravely.
