Down among the reeds a plastic bag and polystyrene cup float, bobbing on the wake of some passing cruiser. A gentle motion, almost apologetic. A baby duck nibbles at the cup but finds no flavor there and soon moves on. I did not see the face or watch the careless arm throw out its waste. Can only wonder at the mindless absence of thought which bought this barren litter to this place.
Thus many live their disconnected lives, detached from life around them by some chance I can only wonder at and sigh. Should I have seen them and spoken of my shock what might have happened who can say. A silent blush as they rectify their mistake Perhaps a swear word to put me in my place , or even worse some violence.
It was not personal we can be sure. No harm was done by it, least not today. Though who can guess at how things might unfold. Lost in the world of laughter and some drink, perhaps some kids were strutting their young lives, still unaware how time and life might bruise their careless arrogance. Perhaps some homeless man, celebrating his swift burst of luck. Some drink and half a sandwich in a bag providing him with dinner by the bank. already far from caring for his world
Like many wrongs a small thing on its own. Signifying nothing or a lot. Like tiny bricks that build a monument, these careless moments build an ediface. In time if we keep adding to it’s mass, the weight of it might challenge our own life. Finding a stick I bring it to my hand and walk towards a bin some yards away. Not a great effort in the scheme of things, but made with little joy as I reflect on men who chatter as the world decays.
Development has offered many things. The chance to seek for glory or release. To lie like Romans on a bed of quilts as slaves offer grapes to our sated lips. To rush from now to there, some plan in hand to reach our paradise or peace at least, unmindful of the planet we call home. Each action that we make brings no response, and thus seems free from consequence for now. Perhaps if we don’t show it some respect, the planet we call home might cough and vent its wrath.