a voice in ...

“In the end," the speaker, said, “we’re
all responsible for the
oil
catastrophe. We’ve made ourselves
beholden to BP and Haliburton and similar henchmen and
rapists. If the seagulls can’t raise their wings
to fly,
if the pelicans smother to death when washed over
by a
wave of crude, if the fish
and plant life suffocate, and
if
the fishermen commit murder or, alas,
suicide, we’re all
partly, at least, to blame. It is a time,” he said,
“to assume responsibility. It’s late,
but not too late. The tide
cannot be cleansed, but it
can be turned.
We have a sea of troubles, but we can
make things into an
ocean of possibility.” The speaker stopped,
then checked his watch, took
a drink of water, and looked about.
The wilderness was
a
lonely, desolate, desperate
place,
especially
at
night.