4:25 a.m. I’m off. 791 consecutive (almost) days (like in a row) — my daybreak walk at Cove Island Park.
Never could read a map, coupled with a lousy sense of direction. But, I could feel it. A gentle breeze from some direction at 5 mph. Just enough to keep the pesky gnats from feasting on me.
65° F. Breezy. No humans. Quiet. A perfect morning.
Yet, despite this magnificent start, I should have known. It was still dark out, but it got darker, fast.
I pull into the parking lot, turn off the ignition and sit and look around me.
Plastic forks and plates. Plastic Bags. Cans. Bottles. Disposable hibachi charcoal grills, empty charcoal bags. Face masks. Soiled diapers. Potato chip bags. Remains of potato salad. Toys (broken). Cans of empty pork and beans. Watermelon rinds. A total desecration of a place that should be sacred, hallowed ground.
I stare out of the windshield, pondering whether I should just fire up the car and head home. Sigh. This is all in full alignment with the documentary last night.
Eric tuned into a Disney documentary on a family of sperm whales in Dominica, with spectacular underwater shots of the gentle creatures, mothers’ nursing their babies, the click, click, click of whales communicating with each other. And all of this magnificence threatened by discarded gill nets, hits from boat propellers and swallowing toxic plastics thrown overboard.
So the nerve receptors were switched on high as I’m taking in the parking lot scene. Like Alice Walker in “Moody” in “Her Blue Body Everything We Know“:
I am a moody woman
my temper as black as my brows
as sharp as my nails
as impartial as a flood
that is seeking, seeking, seeking
always
somewhere to stop.
Enough DK. Let it go. I’m sure this mess is due to park overcrowding after 2 years of COVID quarantine and a shortage of garbage cans, or… raccoons tipping trash cans. Has to be. [Read more…]