Of Birds, and George, and Song

I very much fear this ailing planet will die, Bush, from a surfeit of human beings who admit of no limits to their greed and no conscience to control it. The outrageous backdoor action of your Republicans to open up the ANWAR to their oil company friends for drilling and development is but one further step toward this earth's demise as a habitable space for humans and our fellow species. Shame on them for pitting short-term human needs against the common good of all the living creatures, including ourselves, whose future is at stake.

Sixteen billion barrels of oil. As I understand it, that's the high estimate of what that one of the last remaining, infinitely delicate wildernesses can produce. A half year of this country's current need. A half year, Bush! For a half year, we risk sacrificing the future of a living planet? And our Congress sits around talking about baseball!

Last night I lay in bed and listened to a birdsong of extraordinary beauty right outside the window of our house in the middle of the city. I don't know what kind of bird it was, just that its song was reminder of the fragility of life, so strange and varied in its notes: a trill and warble, a cadenced tune, filled at once, as I heard it, with extraordinary sadness and extraordinary joy.

Here's the special reason for the poignant quality of that song: Ellie and I had spent the evening watching--and listening to--a rerun of the "Concert for George", a memorial for the former Beatle George Harrison, staged by his friends at the Royal Albert Hall in London. What a great heritage of songs he left, all reminding us of the ephemeral nature of the world we live in and the lives we lead! Such a sweet, sad sensibility! Such natural, quiet wisdom in a man who died too young! How much we need the humanity of men like this!

And it seemed to me--forgive my fantasy, Bush--as I listened to that bird, that it was George's spirit that had returned to sing especially for us, outside our window. It was a song of indefinable sadness and infinite beuaty. "All Things Must Pass," George sang. And yes, they must. But let's not forget our responsbility, as our lives pass, to leave this planet as we found it, for the joys and sadnesses of our successors.