The Legacy of Pink
The day, clearly marked to be a pleasant one for a walk in the woods and upon the well worn Appalachian trail, began like so many others. Hiking boots strapped on, camera in hand, dog harnessed up and maps reviewed. The trail can vary depending on the season, Spring brings out fresh azalea and mountain laurels, the scent of moist soil. The summer the shade of the canopy and a mild smell of decay as the leaves of seasons past get ground and broken into the trail by a thousand AT hopeful through hiker’s boots. Fall brings the fresh cool air from the north and with it storms that are punctuated by the migrating birds who summered further north amongst the spruce and moss of the subarctic regions. With the first snows come a peace along the trail, a trail now mostly hidden under the white blanket, only found by the occasional trail marker precariously grasping to a tree for whom the trail itself predates.
On this day, upon this trail, amongst the natural and wild things I see something amiss. I see colors out of place in a winter wood in shapes undesirable in the natural world. These oddities exist on many rocks that were formed eons ago, on trees which took to the wind rooted seed when our grandparents were marveling at the invention of human flight. Each shape in each color masked the shapes before it to create a kaleidoscope of various brash colors, few shapes were of consequence, and even less were done out of respect. Coming off the trail I spied the creator of these shapes of no consequence. A rather plump girl wearing an equally brash pink sweatshirt embossed with the words PINK in the front and her companion, a tall hooded African American boy wearing all black. Both had in their hands, silver can’s of which contents I can imagine had the most unnatural colors which contrast greatly from the natural world surrounding these now brightly colored glyphs.
While there is nothing I can do to personally prevent such desecration of these natural areas. I am neither a fighter nor am I an activist. Given the extent of the color displayed in the area, I imagine the authorities have all but given up. I can only take mere solace in realizing that the marks left by humans are only a thin skin to the age of the stone. Long after the pink clad artist has returned to the soil the world will spin, eventually that soil will compact, it will heat and get transformed into rock itself. The pink artist will someday find herself a stone on a ledge and possibly getting painted upon by yet another, only to have the cycle repeat…….we are not the only thing on this planet, we are just a small chapter, a bacteria on our planets surface. Like any bacteria some are good, some are bad, but in the end we all are absorbed to benefit the tree of life.