Upon/ a red wheel/ barrow/ glazed with rain/ water/ beside the white/ chickens
wrote William Carlos Williams, in 1923. Much, indeed, depends on immediate reality, on the homely implements of a pastoral dream, on living creatures, and a cleansing rain.
But now, 75 later, the rain is acidified, the chicken no longer walks freely, and the red wheel barrow has, no doubt, been left outside so long it has rusted. How are we to live?