Passing through a small village in a valley below a shrinking glacier I counted the number of supermarkets. There were five altogether. Four of the supermarkets had a large car park apiece; and on each of the four car parks perhaps half a dozen cars.
It goes almost without saying that the oversize parking areas were covered with relentless layers of heat grabbing tarmac.
And then I went for a long walk in the same area with a friend who is a retired cartographer. From a ridge near a mountain summit we gazed down to the valley harbouring the new supermarkets and my friend expressed shock and dismay at the picture below him.
"That there are so many new buildings in the valley comes as a shock to me as one who surveyed the valley long ago. I remember it was mostly woodland and fields."
"Where will it all end?" he said after a pause.
"No good will come of it," I replied.
from God's Grandeur
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.