Monday, June 14, 2010

Wrong place at the wrong time

Turtles and tots
(by R.P.Edwards)
Turtles languish in the sand
Dying by the human hand
Small, endangered, a fragile few
But this means nothing
To oily goo
And so we cry
As they demise
Our reptile friends
Before our eyes
But for the children
Killed by “choice”
We have no tears, no thoughts…no voice

The young brown pelican extended his strong feathered wings as far as they would go as he used the early morning thermal to spiral higher, higher, ever higher until, leveling off, he looked down into the crystal gulf waters to see a flash of silver that meant…breakfast.  Without thought, with eyes fixed, the wings folded and, like a lightening strike from above, the expert fisher plunged quickly through the quarter mile of air and, slicing like a knife, effortlessly parted the waters and, a few seconds later,  bobbed up with a tasty, and bewildered, herring in his expansive pouch.  Now, usually pelicans such as he would swallow the treat whole, but, over the last few weeks this particular waterfowl had become fast friends with a tiny Hawksbill sea turtle that frequented a favorite stretch of Louisiana beach and , when either had a morsel to share, their first thought was to share it with their buddy.  “Glip Glip,” said the pelican as he swooped down to the strangely dark sand at “their” spot.  “Glip Glip” he said again, walking and waddling just inches from the strangely shimmering water.  Then he heard it; “Click Click” came the whisper from the waves.  “Click Click.”  Frantically the pelican scanned the near depths and there, struggling in a large pool of floating mud, was his friend.  “Glip Glip!” screeched the bird (dropping the happy herring into the tiny surf).  “Glip Glip,” he repeated, swimming close to his friend and trying to keep the turtles little snout above the gooey mud.  “What happened, Glip Glip?” said the pelican as a tiny tear welled in his left eye.  “I…I don’t know,” whispered the slipping away reptile.  “This mud is making me sick.  Get away, my friend.  Get away.”  But, as Glip Glip slid beneath the water; it was too late.  By now the brown pelican was covered with oil and, unable to fly, soon he, and his dead friend, were found by two beach combers who paused to bend and lament.  “What a shame,” said one to the other.  “Yes, it’s a crime,” agreed the friend as she cradled the dead pelicans oily brow.  “Poor innocent dears.  They never hurt anyone.  It‘s just not right.”  “I hope they pay for this,” added the first with mounting rage.  Then, as both stood and wiped their hands on their red-streaked scrubs, the second concluded.  “Alright, honey, let’s get back to the abortion clinic.  We’ve got a very full schedule today.”

Yes, I know.  What a downer.  But, watching all the heartfelt sympathy poured out for the “in the wrong place” wildlife, I couldn’t help but think of the abortion clinic down the street.  Thousands horribly disposed of without the benefit of a sympathetic environmentalist or media mouth.  Yes, thousands upon thousands; millions upon millions; dying…because they were in the wrong place…at the wrong time.

Lighter fare to come.  Hopefully.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

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