On the drive to the farm we pass a few usual sights. The cow, fence, cow, "OO OO BARN," cow, fence, cow ruetine. The little chapel. The field with random trenches that thousands of stories have been told from. The yard that you have to wonder if another car could ever fit in. The amazing shake stop where ALL the locals hang out at night. Then the hill down to the gravel road up to the farm.
Coming over the hill this time we met a bright sunberst surprise. Not the sun. The harvest moon had risen. It was beautiful. The un-realistic appearance that amazed everyones eyes.
Sudenley my eyes were distracted from the Godly beauty before me to the human destruction beside me. The hills were no longer filled with the usual trees where we use to watch for the random appearance of little dears ears, instead it was filled with demolition trucks. The perfectly reflective dirt laid out like a manshion rug layed before me. I couldn't believe it. My get away was being transformed into the route 66 of old.
For the surburbian lifestyle to pursue we must demolish, but those machines of destruction see nothing of the beauty I see. Like route 66 my scenic roads to the farm were to scenic for the city goers.
Stop, open, listen, learn, sit still, take it in, breathe, think, allow a few memories, a thousand smiles, and then you will see what I saw in those hills you wish to speed pass. It was my secluded paradise. My place where city lights could not reach. Now your rush in life is taking that away. Your love for cars and skyscrapers and not for the stars and simple days has become the process of destruction I feared.
HAVE YOU REACHED YOUR DESTINATION A FEW HOURS EARLIER NOW IN THE PROCESS OF UTTER DESTRUCTION.
Not only my seculded paradise have you destroyed, but those little creatures who you point out to your children as you pass on the road. Those little friends who "Pochahontas" has taught me to love now are running and hiding more than before. I saw few little eyes this trips. I saw many lives slip pass on the sides of those pavements of death we continue to build.
I miss my secluded paradise. My way to get away. All my worries that I had managed to get off my mind at the sight of that glorious harvest moon had returne within seconds. All the worries of home returned and my secluded paradise slipped slowly and painfully away.
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