At least one morning every week I run around Strawberry Point in Mill Valley, but on Monday the view of the San Francisco skyline across the Bay was marred by a spread of McDonald’s trash on the ground next to a garbage can. It was being dined on by an enterprising crow.
Normally I would have run right by. I clean up after myself and you can worry about your own mess, thank you. Trash is an eyesore but I’ll save my fretting for bigger fry, like global warming.
But as I ran on I recalled the article I read about the Pacific Garbage Patch, a stew of plastic and other castoff garbage that is floating in the middle of the ocean. It is twice the size of Texas and keeps on growing.
The pile of fast-food detritus I was trying to ignore stood right next to the Bay. I imagined it blowing a few feet west into the water and from there out of the Golden Gate, and then it would be on its way to join the giant cesspool of our creation.
So I doubled back, shooed off the crow, and picked the mess up, every last bit of shredded bag, quarter-pounder wrapper and ketchup packet, and stuffed it in the garbage can firmly.