Being a naiad isn’t what it used to be. When I started, the job was all about maintaining the balance of nature. Now it seems that all I do is settle minor skirmishes among the refugees. Instead of ensuring bounty for all, I’m reduced to dividing the scraps among the survivors.
Not only were my responsibilities reduced, but my territory was as well. I was given dominion over a wondrous bay set into a beautiful peninsula that jutted out into the larger bay. The gulls were always there, as were the geese. The shore absolutely teemed with oysters and clams and the animals that ate them. Then half a century ago the bay was filled in by the deafmasters, so called because they cannot hear the entreaties of nature. Every time they make a decision against The Balance, the sprites gather together and speak the universal language – the language of soiled water, polluted air, drought and death. The deafmasters saw it all and did not heed the message. I don’t even try to talk to them any more. All I can do is help the refugees who have agreed to keep The Balance among themselves until the deafmasters reap the harvest they have sown for themselves. It’s a full-time job.
First thing this morning, I saw a crow on the beach in clear violation of the treaty.
“Brother Crow,” I called to him, “What are you doing upon the sand? The treaty clearly stipulates that this is the territory of the Gulls.” The crow looked at me sideways.
“That may be,” the crow said, continuing to peck at a branch nestled in the sand, “but this branch comes from a cedar tree. Cedar trees are clearly ceded to the domain of my kind. If you want to address a violation, speak with the two gulls who carried this here.”
“Can you lift the branch in your beak?” I asked. The crow nodded.
“Then please drag it back to the neutral area marked by the deafmasters’ black land reef.”
“But that gets so hot in the sun,” he complained.
“Then let me help you. We can drop it in the grass next to the land reef so you won’t burn your feet and you can avoid another confrontation with the Gulls. Remember that time they clipped you in mid-flight and you landed in the surf?” With much clicking and complaining from Brother Crow, we managed to bring the branch to safety. Although my power diminishes with each step I take away from water, I had more than sufficient energy for the task. I saw something out the corner of my eye that demanded my immediate attention.
“Stop! It’s a trap!” I yelled. The wide-eyed young ground squirrel had already put its front foot in the cage, but quickly withdrew. As soon as he did so, the spring-loaded door slammed shut with such ferocity that all he could do was flatten himself to the ground.
“Rise Brother Squirrel and run free!”
Literature in Small Doses 