There are times I walk the pavement and imagine the earth below. I wonder if she can breathe beneath the concrete, if there is a yearning for plants to grow more than the tree roots who stretch beneath in hope of rain. Part of me hopes for some future day when these paths are more akin to a woodland, something natural that changes as the seasons do, something living.
As I stride over the pavement I am a giant; I see the far away mountain peaks around soft soles, shining as quartz. I imagine snow where the rays bring a sparkle, pristine layers over each rising peak. Then there are the perfect black slopes in cool shade and the valleys with a welcoming breeze.
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