The water bill got paid, our vegetables were eventually harvested, but I didn’t understand the degradation that was happening to the land and the creek during that whole time, how the gullies formed by the rain on exposed ground were carrying precious sediment into the creek, and the creek was sinking lower each year,
Stumbling i’m a lost tumbleweed, spreading seed. i hitched to the mountains, rolled with the trees; now i’m hangin’ on a sea breeze. i’ll play. i won’t stay. the desert calls but i love waterfalls. i don’t know where i belong. that’s my song.
Will your children drink when the supply of plastic bottles runs dry and floats in a dead sea, devolved from you, me and the idea of private property?