Written by John Andreula
It’s a tight window, this duration of time. Three thousand or so years since the expanse of civilization. The Earth remembers the time before; the quiet time near forgotten. She longs for a period of silence and rest and peace.
The Earth wishes for growth without sentience, terrain lacking so-called intelligent fauna, so she can breathe without the obnoxious noxious. She wants to see for days without haze.
We suffocate her now. We take and take. Junk, that’s all we produce and consume. We waste away…all of these beautiful resources.
The Earth will inevitably decide when the clock strikes twelve. If not her, then the sun or his brothers, the other stars, or his cousins the comets as they make a break for it. A smashing crash and then a coming to Jesus or at least a coming to the terms with the last will and testament.
Reflect light and always do what’s right.