May 10, 2019

the soldier's walk

lovely, dark and deep
On this day, the fifth day of walking, I clenched my thumbs in both hands.  I walked like a soldier, long strides, too fast.  I marched.  And tears welled.

On this day, three days after I cleaned up the garbage, I retraced my steps and found it all.

Twenty-one new pieces of trash along both sides of my beloved elm-canopied side road.

I'm counting the plastic McDonald's tea cup and the lid-with-straw-still-inside as two things because they were five meters apart.

I am powerless.  I can't protect the trees.  I can't preserve the whisper-green beauty hovering over me.  There are people who will only cast their gazes and garbage onto the ground, and will never look up and see it.

1 comment:

  1. Ugh. Twenty one pieces in what, four days?
    You could bring a little sack with you whenever you go and just pick up what you find but I don't know if that would ruin your walk or improve it.
    It's tough. We really can't fix anything, can we. But we can maintain and improve some things.

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