Its March 14th in the Whaling City, 40° and sunny at 4pm. A foot of snow meltwater flows down to the harbor. As Springs first day but a week away, I embrace the vernal change. Like a hibernating Black Bear, once caged inside by drifts of cold, white and dark. Surrounded by artists and crime, illegal seafood, drugs and grime; I think of Marfa, Texas. I dream of the warm sun as they sure must often dream of wet cool rain. What an artistic installation it would be to build a pipeline to West Texas. An exchange of excess commodities from one art haven to another. Our surplus of snow and rain flowing south for a thousand plus miles to contribute to an art oasis in the desert. We now transfer toxic oil to soon pollute aquifers, contributing only to our extinction. Perhaps one day we will need to pipe drinking water or oxygen to breathe too. Perhaps my grandkids will be less critical, cynical and gullible. Perhaps when enough is enough and our acid filled oceans have risen 30 feet. Massachusetts a brownfield, without precipitation awaiting earths cleansing ice age.