I never needed a King Solomon. I had the parson, my father, who whispered wisdom-filled words to his sheep and spoke authority from the pulpit. When he opened his mouth: love and hope. Also, apocalypse. Inevitable climate catastrophe.

He picked up empty plastic bottles and firework remains from the beach when he saw all the dead fish. Trying to save the fish from what, a dawning doomsday?

I asked him why. His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, solid answers melting into questions as endless as the garbage on the beach. Wisdom was breaking loose, untamed and boundless.