| Living Downstream This morning I see a driveway marked in chalk. Kids play hopscotch, exclaim, declaim and on the driveway between sidewalk and street, in large letters, is written MY DRIVEWAY. Cute. Children play, take control of, own their territory - this is mine, this is mine, this is me. And I think of grownups. I think about those who say this is my tree, this is my rock, my hill, my stream. Is this how we find our lives, by what we have? This is mine, this is mine, this is me. I have lived downstream of such feelings (even saying downstream labels me foreign to folks - for what is downstream in a city?). Downstream of construction, of parking lots paved so the runoff of rain is altered to flood - to flood others - others who don't "own" that rock, that tree, that hill, that stream. Have we become so disconnected from the natural world we truly think wild and rebellious are the same thing? When wild is being at peace with one's nature, with one's world and rebellious is being at war with one's self and the world. It is true there is no upstream in a city. There is, everywhere, downstream. What we do, each of us, flows to our neighbor, to the future where our children live. What gift do we wish to give? What will flow from us to them? Rocks and trees or lumber and pavement? A world or a warehouse of parts? |
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RD Savage
11/3/95 © 1995 |