The Great Departure
Nov 27, 2022 23:45:04 GMT -5
Post by Radrook Admin on Nov 27, 2022 23:45:04 GMT -5
The Great Departure
by
Radrook
by
Radrook
It is sunset once again and I am standing alone on a ridge atop a high mountain overlooking the encroaching North Atlantic Ocean on the coast of what was once referred to as the United States but which is now bereft of all human habitation. Yes! I am totally alone.
A large monarch butterfly pauses its migration south and momentarily perches on my tremulous and pale extended hand, as if in a gesture of compassion, then, as if perceiving the hopelessness of my plight, it suddenly flutters its orange, black-dappled wings and departs. Two peregrine falcons are perched on my shoulders, no longer afraid of the threat of a well-aimed arrow, or of an accurately aimed rock propelled from a sling or the projectile from a telescopic rifle. Humans are no longer the threat that they had once been and they are finally at peace.
The once hunted deer, the elk, the beaver, the buffalo, the wolves, choose to ignore me. As if I were merely a faint reminder of a dominant species which once was but is no longer relevant to their survival nor to their planet.
“Their planet!” I muse ” Their planet on which I grieve in silence.”
I brush the falcons aside gently with the back of each hand and they take flight and disappear majestically into the misty distance. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with brisk, salt-laden air, as the sea far below heaves its ponderous, glacially-engorged waves against the battered granite cliffs.
As the sun slowly dips below the horizon tinging it orange, white billowing, sunlit-rimmed, cumulous clouds driven by a soft easterly wind drift slowly just 10 meters above me. As if aware that I am totally alone, they always seem to hesitate just for a moment just before moving slowly inland.
Sometimes, during such moments of almost unbearable solitude, I imagine multitudes of people dwelling within their cloudy domain and envision myself in the midst of fellow humans who still prefer to call our battered Earth home.
But then, as always, thunder suddenly bellows and lightning forks and the boisterous acidic sea below hisses menacingly like a cobra about to strike and commences to hurl itself angrily against indifferent obsidian boulders, and my feeble hope falters as the comforting visions gradually fade.
Today, here, from my high vantage point, I peer westward where once vast glittering cities such as Vegas and Los Angeles, filled nights with their lights and their buildings raised their proud spires into Earth’s sky.
Where wide paved highways crisscrossed the landscape and vehicles of diverse kinds surged towards destinations unknown but where now only grow the evergreen and deciduous forests stretching to the empty silent distant horizon.
I listen carefully for the once-familiar sounds of a human presence, and search for the telltale sign of a some cabin chimney-smoke lazily winding heavenward-but there is none. I listen intently for the distant melodic voices of mothers calling out to their kids. But hear only the rustle of vast flocks of birds fluttering their wings on their way southward. I grope for the raucous laughter of the amused, the scolding angered voices of the frustrated, and for the growling grunts of the victorious or even the soft human whisperings and whimpering of those in morbid fear.
But I only detect the cawing of crows and the interminable chirping of fluttering of sparrows, and the distant keening of genetically-restored dire wolves' raising their emaciated, drooling snouts hopefully angled upwards towards the indifferent silent skies and ululating their souls beseeching a none-caring abandoned moon which gazes in a seemingly an interminable compassionate dirge.
The sea is no different. I peer desperately towards the vast Atlantic seeking to detect a sailing vessel or a motorized ship, but only see the spray of whales breeching the surface as if in euphorious celebration of their newfound peace.
Nights have always been this way since The Great Departure. Yet, I have always welcomed the nightly reminders. They stifle the mocking memories of garrulous laughter and suppress the murmur of persistent human voices that had at first reasoned calmly and then had begged me not to remain behind.
Dark nights dim the images of those many compassionate eyes that had gazed at me as if I had been a madman and dim the bitter recollection of the warm embraces of human arms, and the caressing touches of a human hands as they somberly uttered that final farewell. They blot out the memory of the thundering gargantuan rocket engines as they ponderously raised the human multitudes toward the distant stars, leaving me here behind by choice, and forever alone.
Once again the night air is mercilessly gnawing on my arthritic bones and numbing my aged muscles and brutally bringing me back to my senses. Once again, the boisterous ocean below the cliff hisses furiously and hurls itself more angrily against the Atlantic shore's indifferent obsidian boulders. The ground quavers beneath me and I am suddenly brought back to my senses. But the once-extinct dire wolves are swiftly approaching now. I have delayed for far too long this time. Far too long!
A large monarch butterfly pauses its migration south and momentarily perches on my tremulous and pale extended hand, as if in a gesture of compassion, then, as if perceiving the hopelessness of my plight, it suddenly flutters its orange, black-dappled wings and departs. Two peregrine falcons are perched on my shoulders, no longer afraid of the threat of a well-aimed arrow, or of an accurately aimed rock propelled from a sling or the projectile from a telescopic rifle. Humans are no longer the threat that they had once been and they are finally at peace.
The once hunted deer, the elk, the beaver, the buffalo, the wolves, choose to ignore me. As if I were merely a faint reminder of a dominant species which once was but is no longer relevant to their survival nor to their planet.
“Their planet!” I muse ” Their planet on which I grieve in silence.”
I brush the falcons aside gently with the back of each hand and they take flight and disappear majestically into the misty distance. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with brisk, salt-laden air, as the sea far below heaves its ponderous, glacially-engorged waves against the battered granite cliffs.
As the sun slowly dips below the horizon tinging it orange, white billowing, sunlit-rimmed, cumulous clouds driven by a soft easterly wind drift slowly just 10 meters above me. As if aware that I am totally alone, they always seem to hesitate just for a moment just before moving slowly inland.
Sometimes, during such moments of almost unbearable solitude, I imagine multitudes of people dwelling within their cloudy domain and envision myself in the midst of fellow humans who still prefer to call our battered Earth home.
But then, as always, thunder suddenly bellows and lightning forks and the boisterous acidic sea below hisses menacingly like a cobra about to strike and commences to hurl itself angrily against indifferent obsidian boulders, and my feeble hope falters as the comforting visions gradually fade.
Today, here, from my high vantage point, I peer westward where once vast glittering cities such as Vegas and Los Angeles, filled nights with their lights and their buildings raised their proud spires into Earth’s sky.
Where wide paved highways crisscrossed the landscape and vehicles of diverse kinds surged towards destinations unknown but where now only grow the evergreen and deciduous forests stretching to the empty silent distant horizon.
I listen carefully for the once-familiar sounds of a human presence, and search for the telltale sign of a some cabin chimney-smoke lazily winding heavenward-but there is none. I listen intently for the distant melodic voices of mothers calling out to their kids. But hear only the rustle of vast flocks of birds fluttering their wings on their way southward. I grope for the raucous laughter of the amused, the scolding angered voices of the frustrated, and for the growling grunts of the victorious or even the soft human whisperings and whimpering of those in morbid fear.
But I only detect the cawing of crows and the interminable chirping of fluttering of sparrows, and the distant keening of genetically-restored dire wolves' raising their emaciated, drooling snouts hopefully angled upwards towards the indifferent silent skies and ululating their souls beseeching a none-caring abandoned moon which gazes in a seemingly an interminable compassionate dirge.
The sea is no different. I peer desperately towards the vast Atlantic seeking to detect a sailing vessel or a motorized ship, but only see the spray of whales breeching the surface as if in euphorious celebration of their newfound peace.
Nights have always been this way since The Great Departure. Yet, I have always welcomed the nightly reminders. They stifle the mocking memories of garrulous laughter and suppress the murmur of persistent human voices that had at first reasoned calmly and then had begged me not to remain behind.
Dark nights dim the images of those many compassionate eyes that had gazed at me as if I had been a madman and dim the bitter recollection of the warm embraces of human arms, and the caressing touches of a human hands as they somberly uttered that final farewell. They blot out the memory of the thundering gargantuan rocket engines as they ponderously raised the human multitudes toward the distant stars, leaving me here behind by choice, and forever alone.
Once again the night air is mercilessly gnawing on my arthritic bones and numbing my aged muscles and brutally bringing me back to my senses. Once again, the boisterous ocean below the cliff hisses furiously and hurls itself more angrily against the Atlantic shore's indifferent obsidian boulders. The ground quavers beneath me and I am suddenly brought back to my senses. But the once-extinct dire wolves are swiftly approaching now. I have delayed for far too long this time. Far too long!