Please play the first song on my playlist as you read this, please.
In 1997 a five year old boy runs from his front door to the back window of an ice cream truck, and around the corner, down the street sits a little girl busy drawing pictures on the pavement with her new stick of chalk. An afternoon of June is being well spent. Then up the road comes an echoing scream that erupts from a boy who has gotten red ants stuck in his velcro shoes. He runs into his house while his friends wait outside and ask each other,
"Will he be alright?"
Sure, but will he be alright when he gets a Nintendo for his 6th birthday? Mother will never know, Mother Nature, that is. She will rarely get to see him.
Will he be alright when he gets a new Play Station for Christmas? When he chooses to stay inside and stare at a screen all winter instead of going sledding on his new sled Santa gave him. Years later that dusty new sled was sold in a yard sale: $7.00 gathered for memories never spent.
Will the girl who used to draw with chalk be alright when she gets a cell phone at age 13? What will she do when her little sister asks if she can teach her how to draw? She'll ignore her and continue to text her "cute" 14 year old boyfriend: 12 crayon drawings in a storage box she'll never find after her little sister dies of leukemia.
The boy that used to chase after the ice cream truck now chases after a high rank on his shoot'em up video game. When nursery chimes come and go and his little brother comes yelling his name to go help him catch the ice cream truck, he'll yell back, "Shut up James, go away!" Little James will ride on his bike after the truck's tune, and while his big brother sits upstairs staring at his screen a blood-curdling scream will sound. With head phones over his ears and music turned up, he won't know James cracked his head.
"Will he be alright?"
Mother Nature hasn't seen her children for oh so very long.
Will she even recognize them?
After 14 years of loneliness Nature might start to doubt herself,
And it feels like autumn comes a bit earlier each year,
And every first rain of September I can feel her tears.
She is crying.
Mother Nature is dying.
Spring will have sprung,
Swings will never be swung,
Memories we have never made.
We've let these simple things fade.
Soft, long grass that won't be laid in,
Mud from rainy days that won't be jumped in,
Over-grown creeks will never be explored,
Tall glasses of lemonade will never be poured.
Little robot boys shooting guns,
Mother Nature what have we done?
