MY FAMILIAR LEAGUE
I've journeyed from Askanance to
be with you here today. The train was
uneventful in its ride, and, enjoying
the rolling scenes alongside me, I
stayed alert to the land and its lay.
The barns I saw, many of them are
unused now, barns in name only, as
leftover items : funny how that goes,
what passes for culture and time as
it changes. I could see, just by the
fences and the paths, what is unused
and what has fallen away.
-
All of interest, everything. What
surprised me most were the junkyards
- a few of them now right up to the
track right-of-way. Metal piled in
water, dank and fetid. I don't think
one would dare to drink, not even
the running stream that passes through.
Fairly rude, I thought, the treating of'
a world like that. Glass and metal
and rubber; they bear no value
in a broken equation.
-
And then I wondered, what do people
talk about? Do they ever make mention
of things like this in all their noise and
hiss? This seems far worse to me than
potato chips and carbohydrates, or
whatever gets people going. Does a
jogger, all prime and Lulumon'd out,
ever look over from the silly path
to see the junk it passes?
-
Where's the proper attitude then?
Everything's so wrong : the clothes
and the jog may be right, and they may
qualify in their 'age group' and time-trials,
yes, but the error in ways is, really, the
more vile obstruction to living good
lives. Passing this by without notice.
Not right.
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