The Maple Grange Bridge over the Wallkill River

It is a fine windy spring morning, the noxious humid front having blown through last night. Crisp, blue, cool -- perfect allergy weather. Loratadine tablets ease the sneezing, but there are so many green and yellow particles flying through the air that normal breathing is impossible. My red eyes sting. Visine is supposed to help but it doesn't.

Below me, the north-flowing Wallkill snarls at felled trees and beats against its bank like a Sunday morning drunk. Sussex County has been scoured clean. I think to myself, there is no worship like this wildness. There are no lungs like these trees.

Though I still get the Sunday paper I try not to read it because most of the stories make me sad or angry. Smart, dedicated people, occasionally even someone I know, are reported doing and saying the silliest things. Especially when they're trying to do the right thing. They can't help it if nobody knows what the right thing is any more, can they? So I skip the news and just look at the belligerent ads. Hey, bud, no way we're gonna give up our lifestyle. It's our effin right. Yes indeed! -- we humans are masters of the planet. Heel Mother Earth, heel.

Nearby, a bulldozer sleeps. Even machines need a day off. They've been clearing an acre over in Glenwood so Verizon can build a cell tower there. One hundred forty feet tall. Who cares if it's an eyesore and kills property values in the surrounding residential area? At least it'll clear up some of those reception problems Ordinary Folks have been experiencing.

I tighten the band on my cap so it doesn't blow off and start walking toward the Appalachian Trail. Tears streaming down my cheeks. God damn nature.