ten times done

outside in the gray gloom of morning somewhere, the blossoming continues. nature unabated by the disaster, sails on bringing forth her miracles as if there was some purpose and reason or even someone to appreciate it. here is the work without fruit, except it is fruit just uneaten. the rotted remains fill with insects and nothing is wasted, only humans are gone , the strangely quiet world revolves through its region of space unstoppable except for some cataclysmic event which has already occurred in microcosmical reality, in the domain of the planets it has yet to happen and is less likely due to the stringent controls we cannot imagine are imposed on that layer of reality. i see a small flurry of white and green covering acres of fences and wrapping through the demolished blocks of tract houses now just the homes of rats and wild dogs. the bodies have disappeared in the overgrown scenery and probably add to the lushness of the foliage. i am amazed at the pristine resurgence of the natural order where every possible seed or spore or shoot has its place and its opportunity to grow, wild weeds and domesticated flowers, bushes from around the world , planter boxes and cracks in the streets and sidewalks all offering perfect mediums of growth.a broken window flashes as the sun comes out from behind a westering cloud, the wind barely felt down here is hauling the creatures of the sky mightily away to work and water where they are needed. i see something cut across the brightness of the reflection and drop behind a wall of shrubbery gone wild. the next street over is a jungle of poinsettias and rhododendrons with massive poplar and oaks. there is a light colored garage still standing and i can see a small indented trail leading around it. it could be a trail of escaped animals from the pens outside of town where the massacre used to continue unending, now its abattoir is left silent but stained forever with the smell of death.