The future is in the Countryside
Space to breathe
We underestimate it at our expense.
Room enough to stretch out to the full extent that our limbs can manage, to yawn without apologising to all those around us. To stretch out without the accusational eyes of taking up too much of what we are allowed or over spilling out of what is a clearly defined area.
The polite pollution, of all our senses, by those we have never met or will ever do again, the genuine but rare surprise of courteous company.
We strive for more things with a disregard of the price, the actual price, not the subsidised one. What does something cost, where is the list of the impact of its making, of what we agree, without understanding, to give up in return for its possession.
Clean air, Clean water, clean roads, society, community.
The rubbish is everywhere in the capital, as much a part of the fabric of the city as homelessness. Both are abrupt and confrontational early in the morning when the masses haven’t stirred to venture outside. Its diluted, almost disappears when the tourists and the weekend living takes over and their sheer numbers come out to play.
There’s a danger in growing accustom to the space, like it’ll always be there, like it exists outside of human development and expansion. But it is as much in danger by being taken for granted as it is by those who see no worth in it, or judge it as an aside to all else, to purchases, to trinkets and their like.