Escape to the Country?

Pasty, lifeless grey dominates the surroundings like a blight on the land, the ochre of sandstone and steely blue of reflective windows keeping it in check as it spreads beneath them all like a bruise on the Earth’s surface.
It isn’t tender, however, and more like a scab that refuses to heal, an endless flux of rippling structures that rise and fall and are replaced, like everything there eventually.
And while from afar, it seems like something disgusting, something to be picked at and discarded from the earth’s already blemished face, it’s upon closer inspection you see the beauty of everything that a city truly is.
it’s a hub of bustling energy, a sprawling, seething mass of voices, of wants, of needs, of ideas. Of people. It’s a vortex that draws you into it’s climactic centre only to adapt and change to accommodate the finest new parts it discovers, discarding the fragments it doesn’t need and pushing them back and out to it’s edges.
The constant oscillation of it churns everyone into a boiling pot of creativity, life, energy, excitement and extremes, constantly fresh and endlessly versatile. A concrete amoeba, it’s hue an electric glow with a cacophonic voice of wailing sirens and horns, the murmuring breath of millions dwelling within and a heartbeat of uncountable synchronised steps.

But now the silence lies flat across the hills as the sun and stars cast their meagre light upon the unsullied vista, the fields stretching out endlessly along the banks as they suppress the horizon on all sides.
Trees in little clumps reach towards the endless sky like fingers of the earth, pushing ever upwards in their desire to touch the clouds as cows and sheep amble around them, oblivious to the world as they stumble through their ceaseless routines.
Roads criss-cross the landscape like wrinkles across an aged face, while settlements cluster in groups amidst the wilderness, a tiny swathe of civility forged for the people within.
But it keeps quiet and respectful of the natural forces poised around it, the atmosphere humble as it’s inhabitants busy themselves with their own concerns, distracting themselves from the animalistic, untamed silent howl of nature.
Barren of human touch, it’s essence alien in it’s instinctive survival, it leeches the energy from it’s surroundings like the roots of an omnipresent oak.
Finally as the eye of the sun turns away, and the streetlights dwindle to nothingness, the all consuming inky darkness that engulfs the winding roads begins to wrap itself around you, and only the bleached, smirking face of the moon watching over you stops you from being claimed by the endless expanse of the wild. And still the silence roars.


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