Wednesday, March 29, 2006

After you

Two miles East of Exit 147, a Sandhill Crane flew lone and low over my car this misted morning. Legs outstretched, he was on his way from one stubbled, pesticide-ridden, genetically-modified cornfield to another. I thought to myself: Thank goodness you won't have to deal with us much longer.

But I realized that whatever we do to ourselves, we'll do to him first. Whoever said life was fair?