The ground trembles beneath us almost daily now. Small tremors, and now and then, larger upheavals of land, changing the earth in ways we know we have yet to discover. As if the world itself quivers in the fear of a new future, as our own fears quiver in the eerie silence between the shaking.
Each time the ground quakes, the adults pass worrisome glances, but hold a feigned courage and confidence about our safety for the sake of the children cowering below, frantically clasping onto the legs of idyllic parental stability.
Ripples of pavement like waves along the road, concrete scarred with delicate cracks like glass, dirty water flows cutting new highways through a landscape slowly redesigning itself; signs the quakes both follow us and precede us. The ground seems to shake no matter where we travel to avoid it. The boundaries of the tremors seem never to be reached, and so we walk on.
No comments:
Post a Comment