If I don’t know any other truths in this world, I can at least say I know this much.
So, I went down to my creek as I’ve been known to do. Walking and thinking flow easily for me there, a likely metaphor to the water, itself:
***She begins in a marshy region about 6 miles north from where I live, and winds her way through a region carved out by the Laurentide Ice Sheet during the Pleistocene Epoch. I spend most of my time with her in a deep valley not far from her roots, but she continues south to join the Walhonding River, and after that, the Muskingum. The Ohio River is her next destination, before the Mississippi River that, in turn, sets her free into the Gulf of Mexico.***
Along her banks, I’ve seen moss bloom on tree stumps, collected empty cans and fast food wrappers, found a spotted fawn hidden in tall grass, who was recently deceased, harvested wild leeks, fished, collected fossils, battled mosquitoes and gnats, watched the corn and soybean grow, witnessed scurrying chipmunks, sat in awe as rain overflowed her sides, dreamed, healed, slowed down racing thoughts, watched buzzards circle overhead…
I normally don’t mind the changes of seasons that much, but as I walked today, I felt a twinge of unkindness hit me. I didn’t like the corn because it had tassels and was browning near the bottom,
or the soybean because it was turning yellow.
Truthfully, I was angry about this:
It’s easier to blame the fading crops for irking me beyond annoyance than it is to understand how the word, “Love,” can be spray-painted next to the rubbish somebody dumped because _____________. (fill in the blank)
Soybean also makes a good scapegoat for those who throw ancient computer monitors over the graffiti-painted guard rail, where someone else (presumably) had already dredged stone and left the rocks in random piles for the purpose of ______________. (again, fill in the blank)
(Don’t get me wrong. If I still had a monitor like the one in the picture, I’d want to end its life, too, but…)
Yes. I understand the needs for changing of seasons. And yes, I can accept them.
It’s the uncertainty of people’s actions that I’ll never understand.