I faced a mighty gushing wind in a hoard of rustling leaves. I pulled the brim of my shirt over my medical mask. I walked the vacant walks, unclaimed by nature or their makers. I veered away from straggling souls-- most hide behind closed doors now. Leaving a lack- luster in once-bustling places. These dim places, it was man that filled them with color. the stones are grey the woods are brown the metals are silver and black We conceal our breaths with these masks, and the winds are filled with color. We hide inside, and the ground is filled with life again. I fell, tripping on the roots of an unkempt tree, that has just barely claimed the grey stone walk. Nature reclaims the mess we have made now that our hour is passed And takes back these vacant walks in the wonder of Apocalypse.
