I grew up on a dirt road at the end of which was an old-growth wood of many hundreds of acres. It bordered what is called Contraband Bayou. I have written before of this wood and Jean Lafitte, the pirate rumored to have buried his loot among the cypresses. I hunted those woods, fished those waters, was a boy along those banks, in that place. Today, like all the area surrounding, it is concrete pavement illuminated by halogen lights, a Walmart, a Super Target, a casino or two, budget and luxury hotels, homes built on every conceivable patch and lot. It is an absent landscape.

For those of you still advocating for eternal growth and progress, I pose these questions: What is your secret to finding beauty in what we have achieved? Does your heart flutter at more shopping opportunities and a new strip mall? Are the woods and bayous and rivers an obstacle to your betterment? Do you see productive agricultural land along the highway as an opportunity for a solar farm of concrete and silicon and metal? When you see a pastured hill or a majestic stand of hardwoods, do you calculate only the fill dirt or the timber that can be sold from it. Is your heart unmoved by the leveled and the dead? If so, then I will tell you that you are the enemy.

Last year, when the world came to a stop — when the skies were empty of travel, when the wheels of commerce slowed, when seagoing vessels with the latest fashions from sweatshops rusted at their piers for lack of workers — tell me that you didn’t catch the smallest flicker of hope for a better and more sane world. If not, then you are the enemy.

In that year, when you had your hands in the dirt for the first time in your life, when the first tomato was ripe and sliced in your salad, when the sweet corn you grew was roasting on the grill, when the chicken you raised had been butchered and fried for Sunday dinner, tell me that in your secret treasure chest of desires you longed instead to be in Myrtle Beach or Pigeon Forge playing putt-putt or standing in line at the all-you-can-eat buffet with tens of thousands of your kin. Tell me that and I’ll tell you that you are the enemy.

For the news writer who penned these words: “Right now, the mega site is just an empty landscape. While there’s still a long way to go before business is up and running, it’s a springboard for growth at Red Stag and in Sweetwater” — do you sincerely believe that the pristine 400-acre property next to the interstate is really improved by becoming an Amazon-like distribution center? If so, I’ll say once more, You are the enemy. You would sacrifice 300-year-old oaks and countless wildlife for 10 to 20 years of economic activity.

Tell me that you find an absent landscape of pavement and metal buildings beautiful. Then give me your address; someone wants to know.

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R.I.P. Diane Di Prima