Feather in the Snow

Despite the cold, and my much heralded distaste for it, I am growing tolerant of the walk to and from school every morning. The boys love it. The apples have fallen very far from the tree.  For the last week, we've been walking in the snow. I have noticed that when we come across a patch along our path of pristine, glistening whiteness, the boys answer some innate primal call to stomp through it, leaving their mark on this once perfect space. 

I find my sons' bent toward destruction mildly annoying, only in the sense that we are all annoyed when we see our own dark tendencies displayed by others. So let's call it 49% annoyed, 49% amused. That leaves 2% for intrigued, which is about all I can spare for deep thought.

Why do we do this? Not just Colter men, but human beings the world over. When we come in contact with anything pure, unspoiled, we spoil it. Not always on purpose. Sometimes, even our efforts to preserve can be destructive. But just as often, we destroy intentionally, or at least with no regard for protecting innocence and beauty. We throw stones into a glassy pond just to see the ripples. We wipe out forests just to make a buck. We plunder oceans, again, for profit. We commercialize nature, guess why - you got it - for profit. Case in point - Gatlinburg, TN, one of the most naturally beautiful spots on the planet, lies nestled cozily in the Smokey Mountains, and is carpeted with the gaudy detritus of thousands of businesses vying for the attention of every tourist who travels there. We do not go to Gatlinburg to visit museums full of the odd and abnormal, but that's what we find. We don't go for the world's best pancakes, but we find dozens of claims to that title clamoring for our dollars, drowning out the call of the whispering forests and frolicking mountain streams.

That's just an example. Its in our nature to exploit the pure, the unspoiled, for our own gain. Why?

I don't have an answer. 

Today, on the way home from delivering the boys to school, I saw a small space of white along the sidewalk that had escaped the boots of my children. In the middle, poised like Old Glory on the moon, stood a black feather. My first impulse was to remove it. To take away the dark mark that stained this bright surface. But I didn't. I left it there. Maybe because I'm lazy or apathetic. Or maybe because it reminded me of my own tendency to leave a black mark where I find goodness and light. 

May we celebrate purity when we find it. May we work to clear some space so it can grow.