August 22, 2007
Umbrage
The trees and other plants in our town are foundering on sunshine. The irony is perhaps never so obvious as in watching them burn to death on the very source that feeds the chlorophyll that is their life. There’s a sadness in our common identity, reminding me how surely we will one day join together even more intimately when then we’ll watch together. Dust to dust and all that jazz.
Strangely, we’re not yet short on water or gardeners or landscapers. It’s that we’re short on stewards. So few seem to care. Though these kin of ours are living beings typically lacking locomotive movement or obvious nervous or sensory organs and possessing cellulose cell walls, they are yet connected with us in all God’s little acre. It is only too easy to forget that they are alive in much the same way that we are alive, writing their stories with the same DNA alphabet. But there they are, trapped wherever they volunteered… or we volunteered them.
No way to umbrage, east or west.
No Comments »
RSS feed for comments on this post.
| TrackBack URI
You can also bookmark
this on del.icio.us or check the cosmos