Those plants swayed above me in a windless sky.The peculiar occurrance did not ruffle me in the slightest. Why should it? If nothing is sure in this world, then why would the science of wind and movement be constant? I walked forward, a black figure against a changing world. The seasons blended together. To my right it was a cornucopia of color. To my left downy feathers fell from the sky, coating the ground in its baseness. The way ahead of me moved.
The soil on which I stood was dark and rich at times. Though, often, it was hard and dry. It crumbled underneath my cumbersome weight.
At times I would encounter cities. Sometimes there were tall giants that towered above me in the sky. Their gray faces reflected my lithe form as I moved. The others I saw in the windows of those machines did not look at each other. Everyone seemed to hurry. They were all faceless.
There were some places where people strolled. On their foreheads they wore books. As they would encounter one another their novels would either grow or shrink. Turning to pages to communicate. History. At times things were written as their gazes would meet. Those instances, everyone’s volumes shook and grew. A new chapter. All eyes were gray.
Other places were more primitive. Yet, each differing location had the same longing. All those humans searching for the same thing. It is often amusing to me to see them trying to reach it and find it as they see fit. Some, try through the silence of their books. Others through those black cases attached to their hands. Some were climbing, day after day. All trying and trying. Many looking for those answers.
To what?
Never knowing.
And how we search.
