Recently I went to Boston for work. While I was walking around the warehouse, I caught a glimpse of this beautiful cliff behind the building (see picture above).
While I was admiring it, I asked the warehouse manager about it. “It’s new,” he said. “When we moved in, there was a hill behind the building, but then this company came in and started mining.”
“It’s so pretty,” I mused.
“It is,” he agreed. But then he started telling me about how every time the dynamite blew, the birds and the critters would take off in every direction–the ones that weren’t in the blast zone anyway. He also told me about the time that the demolition went wrong, when rocks flew at and over the building, when cars were damaged and people had to take cover.
It seems as though beauty always comes with a cost. Sure, the cliff was beautiful, but at what expense? How many innocent animals met an untimely death via being blown apart? How many thousands of dollars in damage occurred when it went wrong? How many other beautiful things have to come at such a cost?
Is it worth it?