See the yellow kiss the marsh and pass the green of yesterday to memory. Seasons move and the lands do follow. Before the clocks of innovation the environment held sway. Celestial movement speaking the story of time through a perceptible and changing land. A change so clear to our ancient ancestors now seen so quaint in the eyes of our mankind machine. Our marriage to tools works to our freedom and subjugation. It’s the great paradox of humanity’s rise. The more we conquer the less we control. Masters of our own machinations mastered by the machinations that drive us. As with Alexander—we may steam role ever eastward writing histories and song to our exploits. Yet we leave little record to rule the glory left behind.
Then you look upon the marsh, untouched by man and kissed by light, and you reclaim the past. You watch the sun set and you perceive the world as our most ancient ancestors observed it. You see a changing place left only to the plotting of nature and time. A land left to evolve unadulterated as seasons come and go. No clock ticks to instruct us of this time. It is the hands of nature stretching out with an ephemeral grace to caress the green and kiss with yellow. For it is here we need no more than our eyes to tell of time—of life moving on.
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