Where, O caretakers, have the wild places gone,
the miles of green, the echo of birdsong?
Where, O stewards, are the laborers of love?
What exactly is it that we’ve done?
I cannot claim to be an outspoken activist. I am not. I have nothing to show as credentials and know but a small bit of the reality of destruction to our planet.
What I do know is, after a recent trip to Florida, I found it very hard to get completely natural shots because of litter and development. While I admit, I didn’t go into any deep forest hiking, I was at parks that were meant to be nature-filled and full of beauty. I understand the development of parks. They give the average person accessibility to nature–something I would not have had without them. What I do not understand, however, is disrespect for nature. Look at the pictures I share here. Can you spot what is wrong?
People who know more than me about issues of the environment, also warn of farm run off, diversion of natural water flow, deforestation in prime migratory paths, and ignorance of where our products come from and how they are produced, among other troubling things. I realize that I likely cannot learn about all these things, it will take different people with different passions to go after their passion. Changing the industries and mindsets bit by bit so that no one person has to know it all and challenge it all.
That doesn’t mean don’t be mindful of your impact in diverse applications, nor to ignore anything that isn’t “my passion”. You see, I had discounted many of these photos because of the trash that had snuck into the images. Some I took because of the contrast between natural and manmade.
what never connected for me, until now, is that most of the bodies of water had signs warning you not to drink the water. I had merely thought, “I wasn’t planning on it….” but now, as I go through the photos, I realize that these animals ARE drinking from it, eating from it, raising their families around it.
In fact, at one location I found a pile of bird droppings. In the droppings was a long brightly colored piece of plastic. It brought to mind that clip I saw once, of birds who had died and when you examine their stomach you find handfuls of human trash–mostly plastic.
Here are a few of those photos I mention. As best I can tell this is for water being drained off so water levels stay low enough for surrounding housing developments:
Beneath the still, reflective waters,
exists a world, most know nothing of.
The secrets, of both pain and joy,
are entrusted to but a few.
So, to learn of these hidden truths,
I will watch with indefinite pause.
You, oh silent waters, of quiet reserve,
are worth being heard.
You, oh still waters, so pristine,
deserve to be seen.
Like a wanderer,
Through a midnight alley,
with only a candle by which to see;
I move forward.
Word by unrehearsed word.
I spin words into yarn,
knitting them into poems and prose.
One word follows the next,
the story unfolds as I go.
with our feet tied behind our back,
And our eyes made blind.
We laugh to fill the silence,
while the tears fall behind our eyes.
It’s a competition we’ll never win.
All our hard work–
All the planning of our lives,
And then we find ourselves falling,
with no one there to heal our pains.
For no one really knows the wounds we’ve suffered,
They too have been covered by laughter.
Lips curled up in a smile of joy,
while silently we realize we’ll never be who we were before,
Choking on the tears we’ve never cried,
Feeling guilty for all we were to be, but never became,
For the promises made, and unspoken lies.
We dance a dance that cannot be danced alone,
and laugh a laugh that doesn’t exist.
For truly all is still, dark, and silent
behind this heavy mask.
Being human is no easy task.
For it is an elaborate dance we dance,
with our feet tied behind our back,
and our eyes made blind.
I reach out my hand to you, my fellow dancer,
for I too know, the steps that cannot be danced alone,
The dreams we dream to fill the emptiness but cannot be embraced.
We run to nowhere, never winning a race. Why we compete, I’ll never know.
For here we are dancing a dance that can never be danced alone…
I feel the wings of creativity beating against my ribs,
my breathing shallow,
My hopes high.
I dream of the sights I’ll see,
I dream of sand between my toes,
and picking up shells.
Of subtropic walks,
Camera held in my hand.
Oh, the stories I will tell!
How my heart will beat.
As I capture the image of native beast,
but a careful eye must be kept for snakes
About my feet.