A grandmother takes her grandchildren to the beach and tells stories of the days before global warming.
 

I wiggled my toes in the sands of Kentucky where Granny gathered her grandchildren under a small palm tree. She told tales of the days when men in coonskin caps hunted deer with flintlock rifles and horses played in bluegrass. She told of how powerful men polluted the sky with smokestacks and how the second flooding came from crying icecaps. Together we built a sandcastle of our fabled ancestral home. It guarded green Irish fields before joining Atlantis beneath a canopy of fish. Afterwards, she let us explore the beach where I picked up a piece of coal. The screams of trapped miners roared in my ear. I stood overlooking an ocean that matched Granny’s wet eyes and wondered if my descendants would long for the sands of Kentucky.