I Will Salt The Earth
The first time we salted the earth was because of science. The freezing point of dihydrogen monoxide is 32° Fahrenheit. In controlled lab situations, adding sodium chloride to water creates a saline solution whose freezing temperature is -6° Fahrenheit. Even in the uncontrollable conditions of the physical world, salt can melt ice at temperatures of as low as 15° Fahrenheit, earning us seventeen degrees of clear roads, iceless sidewalks, and ease of movement in the face of a forbidding climate.
The second time we salted the earth was also because of science. Spring had come, and with it, we emerged with our plows and tills to plant the fields, to sow seeds into the rich brown upturned earth and prepare for our harvest. Agriculture had developed remedies for many of nature's obstacles -- dams and irrigation channels diverted rivers against arid climates and drought, pesticides rid us of the creatures who wanted to prey on our harvest -- but for the common garden slug, there was the old answer. Salt. Salt sprinkled on slugs caused them to dehydrate, and we delighted in their oozy shrivel and melt, this game we played to protect our cabbages.
The next time we salted the earth was for delight. We remembered the arches they formed in the air in winter and spring as they billowed to the ground, the grace with which they floated from our hands, and we re-enacted our salt games to drums and pipes. It was late summer. The harvest was secure and the days were long. Late into the evening, the sun stretched against the horizon, its reflection illuminating the mid-air salt and infusing it with stately grace that became magical. We laughed and danced and spread salt until the sky fell dark.
The next time we salted the earth was for ritual. One summer night had become another and another, and our recreations grew entrenched until we cemented them with meaning. This was the oath we swore between the sun and the moon. This was the nourishment we fed the earth, keeping it clear of snow and slugs. This was the path by which we formed our delight and let it linger, until it entered our ceremonies, the ways we marked time. Birth, death, harvest, repose... all these we honored with the salt of the earth.
The next time we salted the earth was for conquest. With bounty our stick-stone patterns had grown into culture; our eccentricities, into art; our quiet pride, into the drive to evangelize. What more was there than what we had? What better could mankind create on the salted earth? We rode out to spread our lifestyle to the heathens who had not yet discovered it on their own, whose creativity and evolution had fallen short of ours. We conquered their cities and added them to our own. And at the end of battle, we salted the earth to consecrate what we had destroyed, what could now be created anew. We salted the earth as a purification and as a curse against what had come before us. We salted the earth to mark this earth as ours.
The last time we salted the earth was for mourning. Our snows had grown too cold and would no longer melt. Our harvests waned. We had no time now for our salt dances, our diasporas. We had filled the earth with salt until nothing could grow. We knelt as salt tears slipped down our cheeks.
This entry is my submission for therealljidol Season 6, Topic 28: Salt of the Earth. If you liked this entry, please vote for me in this week's poll.