Usually, when I walk along our gravel road, its beauty captivates me. But this weekend, I saw again the dark side of our road during the annual spring ditch walk. Armed with gloves and trashabgs, we gathered with our neighbors in the driveway of the family that organizes the event each year. They divided us into groups and we fanned out along the entire length of our road, and along the long stretch that leads to the city airport and the National Guard Headquarters.
The amount of garbage we collected this year was staggering. The bed of the pick up was heaped with old tires, a tail pile and other assorted car parts, a humidifier and a huge mound of garbage bags. We picked up fast food containers, beverage bottles, cans, cardboard boxes, countless cigarette packages and cigarette butts, old gloves, ripped clothing, and gallon jugs.
The most interesting items of the day were a pair of women’s underpants and, further down the road, a flyer about how to pick up women, and a little beyond that, a size nine White Stag women’s dressy sandal. I’m praying there’s no connection amongst the three.
When we were done, I rode back with my neighbors. “Take a good look now, “ one of them said. “By tomorrow there will be garbage again.” He was right. This morning someone’s discarded french fries littered the gravel by the bridge, the most beautiful stretch of the road we all love so much.
My heart sank, not because of the french fries which the birds will make short work of today, but because of people so blind to beauty. If they saw the loveliness surrounding them, I know they wouldn’t use our road or any road for a garbage can. So they must be blind. My heart sinks when I think of the despair that is their lives. For what must existence be like for those who can’t see the simple gift of beauty?
