Mundanely Luxurious
The highway dipped and curved under a wide overpass, plunging them into darkness. Several lanes of traffic joined the main flow all at once, sneaking rapidly up from the tree-lined interstate or snaking down from roads above. The new arrivals joined their momentum, and they became a singular entity, coursing over the artery of transit.
The curve straightened and a wide vista appeared before them. The highway stretched far out in front of him, the tops of buildings and long strings of trees vaulted over the wide expanse, and beyond them rose dark green hills, eventual obstacles for the highway to wind around. The tall hills swarmed with trees and shrubbery, though at times the light brown rock of cliffs would peek through in sharp relief.
Above them all hung an unbroken expanse of billowing clouds, tinted a deep dark blue by the daylight, and heavy with the promise of rain. Their surroundings were bright and luminous in dramatic contrast to the dark sky. It was as if the ground and the sky were both adamantly refusing to play along with the other in a fit of stubbornness. Thus the rare skyline before them, thus the feeling that one was driving into a painting.
Heavy gusts and slicing wind energized their surroundings, waving the trees back and forth, dislodging the few leaves that had already browned in anticipation of the coming autumn. The car cleaved a path through them, tossing them aside, spinning them wildly in every direction, as it continued on its course.
They drove through the protesting storm, daring it to break open as they curved around thick industrial section of the city, vaulted over sprawling commercial centers, passed countless billboards. They left the city behind and the forest and hills crowded around them in commiseration, hiding their passage from those who resided beyond the vast stretches of green.
The surroundings became a tranquil monotony of natural beauty and one would eventually find themselves silently pleading for the journey to end, for their destination to break the hold of the rolling scenery. There must be a thousand snippets of highway all around the country, one would think in exasperation, that look exactly like this. And wouldn't it be wonderful if they were all connected? If one could fold the land over itself, drive into the scenery in this state, and instantly emerge from the almost-exact-same scenery in another? Must we always travel in such straight lines? Can we not include angles into the construction of our world?
But then you would not learn what you must from the journey. That in the uncountable movings and dealings of humanity, there is still so much left unspoiled. There is still so much beauty stretching over the land that the very concept of it has become mundanely luxurious.
You live in a beautiful world, still.
The curve straightened and a wide vista appeared before them. The highway stretched far out in front of him, the tops of buildings and long strings of trees vaulted over the wide expanse, and beyond them rose dark green hills, eventual obstacles for the highway to wind around. The tall hills swarmed with trees and shrubbery, though at times the light brown rock of cliffs would peek through in sharp relief.
Above them all hung an unbroken expanse of billowing clouds, tinted a deep dark blue by the daylight, and heavy with the promise of rain. Their surroundings were bright and luminous in dramatic contrast to the dark sky. It was as if the ground and the sky were both adamantly refusing to play along with the other in a fit of stubbornness. Thus the rare skyline before them, thus the feeling that one was driving into a painting.
Heavy gusts and slicing wind energized their surroundings, waving the trees back and forth, dislodging the few leaves that had already browned in anticipation of the coming autumn. The car cleaved a path through them, tossing them aside, spinning them wildly in every direction, as it continued on its course.
They drove through the protesting storm, daring it to break open as they curved around thick industrial section of the city, vaulted over sprawling commercial centers, passed countless billboards. They left the city behind and the forest and hills crowded around them in commiseration, hiding their passage from those who resided beyond the vast stretches of green.
The surroundings became a tranquil monotony of natural beauty and one would eventually find themselves silently pleading for the journey to end, for their destination to break the hold of the rolling scenery. There must be a thousand snippets of highway all around the country, one would think in exasperation, that look exactly like this. And wouldn't it be wonderful if they were all connected? If one could fold the land over itself, drive into the scenery in this state, and instantly emerge from the almost-exact-same scenery in another? Must we always travel in such straight lines? Can we not include angles into the construction of our world?
But then you would not learn what you must from the journey. That in the uncountable movings and dealings of humanity, there is still so much left unspoiled. There is still so much beauty stretching over the land that the very concept of it has become mundanely luxurious.
You live in a beautiful world, still.
posted by greenland at 12:01 PM
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