Standing alone in a crowd is a way of life. I can feel a wind blowing, making its spiral dance amid the bodies, leaves drifting from nowhere to nowhere again. It’s a forest of people and I’m one tree. Roots all intertwine beneath the soil, feeding on the same poisons, the same nutrients.
There is a river nearby, but the rivers in this forest are concrete, and the fish that swim in them are mechanical things that cough smoke into the air.
The riverbed is cracking under the heat of the sun.
Paint is crumbling off houses, revealing rotting wooden planks.
They should have used vinyl siding.
It lasts longer.
Miaow.
1 comment
I hear a strong theme of isolation, of being lonely but never alone. Things that normally have beauty and vitality are deadened or dehumanized. What an amazing inner word-picture. Thanks for sharing, orangish.