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Show \ V- ¦ garden when our fathers inherited it? When did our garden die? It is a question without answer. Our fathers, like their predecessors, rolled the great wheel of progress ahead another mile, or at least it looked like progress and it looked like a mile. It was getting hard to tell; the sky turned gray and they couldn't see very far ahead. The sweat handkerchiefs wiped from their faces contained grit and fine pumice. They blew their noses and the mucus was black. One year, very quietly, all the animals left and no one saw deer in the valley. The next year, the Oquirrh Mountains died. Sometimes yellow clouds enveloped the city, and a mild acid rained on the people and the few trees left. Our fathers cursed and shook fists at the sky, then accelerated off down the expressway, spreading an invisible death. Whose garden was this? It was ours. We thought vaguely that there was something wrong with what was happening, but we couldn't figure it out. It seemed very complex, so we lived our lives and said that surely technology would save us. Then we forgot about it. There was one time, when we were |
