The New Animal Kingdom ~ The Urban Jungle ~ the metropolis. Now home to more than 50% of the earth’s human population. Meanwhile, nature is once again becoming congested and this time mankind is to thank: fire-fighters, conservationism, tree-huggers. It’s not as if we’re the the only animals that build, destroy and bogart mother nature…but perhaps we’re the first to realize (bless the human brain) that we must conserve to sustain.
It didn’t occur to me until recently that a natural preserve must seem quite congested to an animal. Yellowstone, Yosemite & the river-mouths in Alaska during spawning season…they are the Manhattan, Bangkok & San Francisco of the animal kingdom. Although not every animal enjoys living in the natural preserve, it’s animal instinct to provide for one’s family. “Honey, there are not enough worms here…we’re moving to the forrest.”
Imagine the most bustling forrest you’ve hiked thru: for a moment, shut-off your eyes and just listen. It’s a cacophony of noise. Listen to the birds sing. Listen to the brook babble. It’s a natural symphony! Beautiful. However, if you change your perspective, that forrest seems unlivable. Consider how annoyed a bear must be by the never ending squawking of a crow. Ponder how badly a frog needs a good nights rest in the rainy season but the incessant droll of the creek keeps him up.
It gets so bad, that one sparrow leaves. He flies downstream, to the west. The millions of tall & obnoxious trees dwindle with every stroke of his wings ~ leaving behind thousands of species (that he never much cared for) whom made the natural skyscrapers their home.
He reaches the City by the Bay…a land he had heard about in myths and dreamt was real. This idyllic paradise is foreign but he feels at home. It’s nearly silent, except for a few new & pleasant sounds. The horns, the bells, the peaceful chatter of the people whom raise and lower their volume, pitch and tone but never seem to cry like the miserable hawk. It’s clean, almost sterile ~ and he can fly without fear of running into a tree, bird or dumb moose. His best friend, the stoner-butterfly, the trip and he’s proliferated. Turns out he wasn’t a fool for leaving after all. In fact, the bird contemplates returning to the forrest but only to brag about his new home. But he is never going back, he found his Walden.
