If you haven’t already seen it, the largest grasshopper I have seen in the city in many years is perched on the brown cattail in the foreground. On what the “let’s spite the liberals by pooping where we eat” crowd would call a ‘hippie-dippy waste of money,’ a patch of wetland the size of a small above-ground swimming pool nestled between parking lots of a local hospital along a rainwater drainage path.
Yep, it probably cost a few bucks to put it there and costs a few to maintain it.
Well, we’re creatures of nature and it does us good to see a little soft, verdant goodness among the hard, uncaring glass and stone and steel. Humans do not live by asphalt alone, nor should they.
I wish we had many more of those little biological oases in the city.
I’ve heard the “treehugger” sneer often enough in my life, and it makes no sense to me.
As if valuing the resources and beauty in nature is bad. As if having some housepride in our common home, Earth, and keeping it looking and functioning well is foolish.
As if simply not metaphorically pooping where we all live and eat is a terrible idea.
As if trashing things is a higher good and leaving a useless garbage pit to our grandchildrens’ grandchildren is wise.
Stop and think, sneerers. And then maybe go out and hug a tree. It feels good.
A little earlier, I wrote about pessimism in science fiction. Seemed like a nice idea to follow that up with an optimistic little story doodle.
(Untitled 100 word short-short)
The children gasp happily at the view as the shuttle door opens. They set up the picnic on matted needles under a gnarled pine by the beach. I snap pictures of the shoreline and rocks, hoping to compare them to the old paper snapshots my great-great-great grandfather took nearby.
In his snaps, there is a city here, half drowned in a rising sea. Today the sea has retreated again, and the cities are inland, underground; forest and grass and wild animals reclaim a world made mostly of natural beauty.
The dirty work is all in space; Earth is beautiful again.