Should Have Listened

From my perch on a concrete bench in upper quad I can see squirrels bound through the dewy morning grass and hear birds chatter amongst the brightly colored trees. The sun warms my face, which is great because my ass is getting cold, I cannot help but smile. Fall is without a doubt, my favorite season. It is not ragingly hot and humid, bonfires burn after the football game, hot apple cider is drank by the gallon, and everyone seems to be in a better mood. Though my ass has begun to numb from the cold, I think I could sit here all day long, just enjoying nature and the bustle of students hurrying to and from campus.

The sharp, repeated beeping of a campus garbage truck backing up breaks the calm peace of nature, causing my mind to wander. I think about the dangers this truck, and others like it, bring to the fragile ecosystem we live in, and begin to question if it will be the same next year. Will I be able to sit here next fall watching the squirrels run to and fro? or hear the birds chatter? Will the trees that surround me still be in their places as they have been for years before, or will they have succumbed to the poisonous emissions of the human pollution?

The once warm sun is now void of heat and much too bright, leaving me cold and over exposing the death that riddles the leaves around me. Deep down I know the leaves will grow back in the spring like they  have every year in the past. Yet, there’s still the possibility that they won’t and that very possibility haunts my thoughts. Humans are more permanent than previously thought, for when we die, our destruction does not die with us. Rather it stays as a sore reminder to future generations as to how much we fucked up. I only hope that our generation and the generations before us have not fucked this world so horribly that future ones do not get to bear witness to a morning like this.

We systematically rob our children and grandchildren of the beauty that surrounds me and it pains me. They may never know a squirrel or this crisp air or the warmth of the sun on a chilly fall day. They may not bear witnesses to the green leaves turn to impossible shades of orange, purple, and yellow, or rake the leaves into piles for the little ones to jump in. They may not get to see the stark contrast of the trees barred, dark limbs against a winter sky or watch as the warm spring air brings to life delicate blooms of seedlings that spiral to the ground like helicopters in the wind.

They may not get to bear witness to any of this and it’s our fault for not making a real effort to save the fragile ecosystem that works hard to sustain us. Perhaps we should have listened closer to the Lorax. Maybe then we wouldn’t be so fucked.