Out of the corner of my eye I catch the brilliant green of the tree branches outstretched across the stark grey of the concrete. They beat against the wall of the small building, covering most of it, even some of the door. In front of the building, carelessly placed between two colossal trees, lies a rusted bike rack. The rack sits empty, its previous travelers long absent. A dirty metal table provides a shaky and unreliable seat for me. The dust and grime clings to my legs and hands. Below me rests the remains of many cancerous bad habits. Through the grass a few faded yellow cigarette butts poke up their half-charred heads. I hear a chirp of an early bird in the distance, only to be drowned out by the heavy machinery that is being wielded by none other than man himself.
Posted in: Opinion– July 21, 2011