Tuesday, March 20, 2012

And little town . . .

What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

from "Ode on a Grecian Urn"

I think of these lines when I think of towns like Cheshire, Ohio, towns which are emptied of people, but the residents could neither return nor talk of what happened there.

The same, it seems, happens to people whose water is contaminated due to fracking fluids. Once they settle their law suits, they are silenced. As a consequence, the radio is full of bold claims that no one's water has been contaminated.

1 comment:

TC said...

The word that bears all the weight of feeling in the Keats -- "desolate" -- is about as perfect a word as could be applied to the systematic devastation -- and desecration -- of the landforms.

A telling post... all too telling.

(That wonderfully stick-world-desolated drawing was meant by Dog to be here.)