Or, Through Kansas
It is curious, in a place like Kansas, how empty it is. Human life is non existent for endless miles. Pure desolation. The wind rips through, persistent and penetrating. The tumbleweeds whip across a barren land, only the strong threads of sandy grass cling to the earth. A never-ending train of dust barrels across the valley, a ceaseless wall of an ominous grey haze.
The feeling of pure desolation grips you, especially in contrast to being in the city. The buildings, the people, the infrastructure that binds a city has no relevance in this part of the world. Here, there is nothing. There is only the unforgiving wind, the dry, dead foliage, everything having a dull, dusty film. And still, amongst the plains of a forgotten land, nature persists. A lone tree, though slanted and stocky, marred with the wrinkles of being constantly battered, grips its roots deep, holding to the land, fighting for its right to be.
It is still more curious how we humans persist. We have a severe tendency to live in the unlivable, in places where nature is unkind and grueling. But further still, we insist in staying where we are so out of harmony with what is around us yet choose to stay. Is it a fault of man to stay in such detrimental situations, such poor relationships, such tormenting jobs? Or is it nature? Is it a more natural state to want to persist, to fight against the winds of change and still remain?