Overgrowth Where fields were an industrial estate is seeding like wild grass, avaricious as a speculator, eating, omnivorously, both land and creatures. Plant replaces plant, like for like, tower cranes swaying like stamens, snooping in the undergrowth for the sabotage of badgers, as hedgehogs and battalions of moles form an unlikely alliance of blind resistance. The horizon is as flat as an empty sack, the earth,fluid as a river, isolated trees like languid giraffes grazing. The sky is a blank stare devoid of light and, in the distance, taut as treacle, the sea. Factories are things the neglected soil failed to think of, fresh as they are to this slow landscape. It was only, it seems, when the momentary things called men, lethal as love, considered manufacture, rising girders glowed with rain, roads tarred, assured of new traffic tailgating through the overgrowth.
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