the trail
By benafim
The Trail It’s an old trail, old as the landscape; older than the trees, which exposed roots boldly cross it like petrified brown snakes. Mule hooves and man have made it deep and barren, but now that few walk to the hamlet it leads to; green shoots are coming up through cracks in hard soil. No one lives in the hamlet anymore haven’t done so for years, now reduced to a pile of stones, a memorial to the passing of time and the ultimate futility of human toil. Through and behind the hamlet the trail continues, fainter now almost invisible like a fine scar across a beautiful face making it hauntingly mysterious. The trail abruptly ends at the foot of an ancient oak and beyond, that marker, the hot breath of a bush landscape, that rolls up a hill till it merges with low clouds and disappears into a haze of nothingness, into a great void where all humanity will vanish and their tombstone shall be heap of rocks, which in time will be yellow sand, seashore on a tropical island. Written February 19th, 2002 © on Feb 19 2002 07:08 AM PST 0 • 10
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"The Trail ..."