As I sit here and write to you, I’d like to share with you something more horrifying than a few boos – our current home, Earth.

I don’t know your name
or even if you’re alive,
but I’m doing all I can
to make sure you survive.

I’m your great- great grandmother
who lived a century ago
in a world far different
from the one you must know.

As you look through your window, I hope you will see a bright future. I hope you dream big, and that you have the courage, drive, and fortitude to do everything you can to achieve those dreams.

Talvez eu não esteja viva para ver alguma mudança, mas espero que vocês vejam e tenham um mundo melhor em 2050. Plantei um ipê rosa e outro amarelo, que eles estejam florindo até 2050.

Maybe you heard about bats? Bats, the carriers of this disease that spread among us like wild fire. I love bats. When I was your age today, sitting in the evening on the back terrace of your grandparent’s home in Ibiza, hundreds of bats would play, dance and sing among the trees.

But being truthful, I know we are not yet on the path that will lead to the change that is needed; but it is visible.

I don’t wish to go backwards, but I do wish we would slow down and design our brave new world with more care.

Rather than exploit it, destroy it, poison it, why don’t we just enhance the beauty of it, guard it, and love it?

Last week I took you to protest the Dakota Access Pipeline.

I am getting your father on board too so that we can double charge this together.