From the vantage point of our Silver Line metro rail car,
we traverse Tyson’s Corner, and survey the expanse.
Towering glass buildings and tangled roadways,
elbowing out the newly-leafed trees and occasional grass
who are gamely attempting to stand their ground.
“How can people not see that we are the bacteria which has infected the land?”
my daughter asks.
Seems an apt observation for this Earth Day 2018.
We needy newcomers have overrun this place.
A distant memory it is, for those who conceived and pioneered it,
when the greenery of living kind opened its door in welcome.
They were here first.
What right do we have…
to take without giving?
to use without replacing?
to squander what’s precious?
to extinguish what’s in limited supply?
What must the bird think from her, er, birds-eye view,
of the constructed landscape etching out the vanishing majesty?
What must its Creator think from His vantage point,
of the decision to entrust dominion over it to humankind?
Can we live together, you and I?