Transformation of Barren and Gigantic
Yesterday I escaped from the school in which I teach and ran on gravel paths through prairie dog fields, uphill into the rolling plains undulating at the feet of the Front Range like gently rolling waves pulsing out at sea preparing to transform into menacing curling whitewater and glassy hard faces pounding beaches and rocky shorelines. I was winding my way east- if I continued to run, as sometimes I wish I could, slowly run across the countryside, across parched earth, across bridges spanning mud and clay-brown rivers, across shrinking forests, across maddening and enraged city sidewalks, until I reached the beaches of the Atlantic Ocean, where I stop, toes kissed by the flow and dared by the ebb of the sea that brought so many of our ancestors here- aiming for a water tower a little more than two miles from the school. I turned around before I reached the water tower because I needed to return to school, to teach, to supervise recess. When I turned, I was once again confronted by this Front Range of the southern Rocky Mountains, much of which rises to more than 10,000 feet. Moments before I was dreaming of the vast expanses of the Great Plains stretching their way to the Appalachian and Taconic mountains. The fullness of time and devotional will in the forces moving the earth and the sun and moon and planets and galaxies and universes nearly strikes me down each time I perceive these mountains- truly perceive them, devote a moment to breathe the earthy grays and splotchy whites, the angles and ridgelines distorting depth perception, the scale, the blue sky or huddling billowing clouds. Part of me would like to stop here, here where we can leave with an image of the stoic plains contrasted with the majestic mountains, an image of humanity moving slowly across the earth, minuscule yet infinitely expansive in that he is conscious. But it is not that easy. The mission of these writings is to attempt to perceive the heralding of the future in the activities of the present, and the future here is monotonous housing developments and gas and oil exploration and cultivation. The plains are filling with skeletons of plywood and rapid growth lumber, plastics and solar panels. The earth beneath riddled with venous circuits of pipes and wells, benzene laced water. The oil pumps and beige coffee can containers are in the back yards of future children and family pets. This is not to say fracking or housing developments or oil production are bad or good- this is to say this is the future, and it is happening at a pace that is noticeable day to day. The horizon, the endless plains, the brazen relief of mountains rising out of oceanic flatness is disappearing into angular, hard lined constructs. Aesthetically, it is not a change to my liking. To catch the last glimpses of a planet in a state minimally or negligibly impacted by the workings of humanity is an honor. To live in a home with heat and hot water from gas burning appliances is a privilege. As I run down the hill, the sun warms my bare chest and makes me squint my eyes, the air nearly void of moisture is palpable in my straining lungs. I could keep this up indefinitely and in days and years watch the landscapes transform in rapid frames and remember what the mountains looked like and the horizon so far away and keep running until there was no more space for my footsteps and they were only landing on pavement anyway and I was forced to stop and stare at a wall of vinyl siding whose kiss and dare are not so inviting as the ocean.
