Seeds
Stretches of road roll
out through an open expanse of country. Paving over
parched grass, washing out ancient riverbeds
A stark monotony has overtaken wherein all
the environment seems to have accepted; conformed to
that which has tried to tame it.
Infinite squares boxed up are
fenced off.
Motoring through this terrain of clipped shrubbery.
Only small stains of wildness allowed to remain;
loose branches dangling, charred trunks
left to rot, to fall away with the wind
Clasped together in the in between
of sprawling paddocks unfurled for miles out over
each side of flat asphalt.
You notice the chipped, rusting speedometer
waving haphazardly on handlebars as hills protrude
breaking grid formation though they rise up gently
they distort; disorder.
Ascending with them you glimpse
the untamed nature of their surroundings
The sheer size of space –
red earth masked by paved road, arid fields
once well-fed, now depleted – all still grabs
the breath in your throat,
holds tight whilst making you gasp.
To gaze out at grains dried
in the heat of a sun too hot overwhelms
opens up a seed that aids
in the sprouting of an insignificance.
Something that you can bury
Though it always somehow remains
present.
By Emily Dale
