It’s only my second day and already I’m starting to feel a little trapped outside.  I’m leaning in closer now, trying to find the worlds within sidewalks and branches.  Here things flourish and decay.  An onslaught of greenery forces its leisurely way across concrete; for the aphid on its leaves, this is their modest manifest destiny.  Just a few steps to the left there is destruction and death on the horizon.  A fungus or mold I can’t see with my human eyes grips this floral creature.  Its body lay bare, half consumed, exposing the grey skeletal structure below green flesh.

And the grass

Everything feels finite, except for the grass.  It seems to stretch on forever, crunchy or springy in every direction.  It’s like keeping death in your front yard, unless you’re rich and have a deep disregard for water conservation.  This burning place on our planet’s equator is no location for thin strips of chlorophyll to flourish naturally.
I’m so sick of it I only shoot once.

Finally, I find hope in a crevasse the size of my pinky. Vast by any measure for a ladybug or slug.  Even in this slab of stone and thermoplastic paint, green fight’s it’s way forward, stretching thin arms to our blistering star.

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