[This little pamphlet appears across town overnight, nailed haphazardly to hitching posts, doors, walls--anything in a public place that's wood. It's a clear sign that loony Mr. Wooster is back in town after a three month sojourn into the wild. Feel free to rip up the pamphlets, graffiti over them, or run into Wooster. He's actually quite wealthy and has a rich family back east that sends him money to support his obsessions, but to any newcomer he looks more like the town beggar right now, all tattered clothes and filthy beard.]
The Locusts of the West
When you walk with Nature, you walk with the Divine. Out upon the desert plains one can see the Sublime and in the immense stillness one finds oneself and is refreshed. I have seen forests made of stone, and a canyon trench more vast and awesome than any creation made by man, a veritable abyss from which the Hopi Indians say the first man walked.
This, God’s creation, is brought to ruin not by war or drought, but by the Locusts of the West. I say locusts, although I do not mean any insect, although the destruction they wreak upon the land is as great as any Biblical plague. What I do mean by locust is the cattle that trample the earth, champ the wild grasses down to the soil, turn the subtle beauty of the wilderness into a desolate wasteland of clay and dust.
If you love God, if you love this Earth, which He has given to us, despoil it not. Nevermore drive the cattle through this sun-blessed paradise, but walk in solitude and silence and see what Nature will provide unto your body and soul.
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