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scavenging
Aug. 9th, 2007 03:43 pmOf all the things I saw between Oregon and Texas, the sights that stood out to me the most were the scavenger birds.
I've always liked scavengers. I know they're not popular, signets of death that they are. They've always reminded me, though, of the absolute economy of nature. When I see roadkill I feel a pang of regret for the little life lost. But when I see a crow crouched over it, or turkey vulture circling overhead, it's a comfort. There is suffering and pain and it' s a part of living. There's also nourishment and resourcefulness, and that's part of living too. Carrion animals take what's passed and use it for energy. Waste not, want not.
Driving through a country that alternates between barren stripmalls and sweepingly beautiful vistas, I had a lot of time to consider the subtle ways the universe compensates for loss. This isn't always as simple as "God opening a window after closing a door." This isn't always as simple as "leave the place and people you love behind in return for the chance to do what you love." It's sometimes a matter of something literally dying, literally suffering and wasting away or being mowed over by a large fast-moving vehicle or starving to death in the wilderness, in order that something else can eat it and thrive.
We're here. Let's see what flourishes.
I've always liked scavengers. I know they're not popular, signets of death that they are. They've always reminded me, though, of the absolute economy of nature. When I see roadkill I feel a pang of regret for the little life lost. But when I see a crow crouched over it, or turkey vulture circling overhead, it's a comfort. There is suffering and pain and it' s a part of living. There's also nourishment and resourcefulness, and that's part of living too. Carrion animals take what's passed and use it for energy. Waste not, want not.
Driving through a country that alternates between barren stripmalls and sweepingly beautiful vistas, I had a lot of time to consider the subtle ways the universe compensates for loss. This isn't always as simple as "God opening a window after closing a door." This isn't always as simple as "leave the place and people you love behind in return for the chance to do what you love." It's sometimes a matter of something literally dying, literally suffering and wasting away or being mowed over by a large fast-moving vehicle or starving to death in the wilderness, in order that something else can eat it and thrive.
We're here. Let's see what flourishes.
