Image: Clker-Free-Vector-Images, Pixabay
I stand at a bus stop in sunny Palm Springs wearing the T-shirt I had made especially for such occasions. In bold black letters across white fabric it reads "STOP DRIVING."
From where I stand, it appears that the six asphalted lanes, three of them for the cars coming past me, facilitate the hurried and boxed-in on their way to somewhere else, unaware of how they're missing out on the mesquite pods dropped and ripened around me, the cloying sweetness of alyssum lining the sidewalk outside a strip of shops that could be destinations for some of these drivers, many of whom stare for a moment, likely perplexed by the nonsense of my T-shirt's directive, and don't stop, not then and we'd assume, not ever, cars proving as necessary for us now as mesquite pods were to those who inhabited this desert valley for 5,000 years before us.
