BLUE MOUNTAINS

Rugged grainy blocks of sheer stony defiance rise out of the olive green mass of the forest below like the yellowing stubs of teeth worn down by millennia of grinding.
Flat top plateaus stretch to the horizon in every direction like atolls becalmed in a murky olive ocean
Sliced in two by the ribbon of the road, the peaks and deep mysterious cool dank canyons lie unmoved by our feeble foray into their fortress.
Thin capillaries of modern daily human existence wind into the wilderness, lined now with the garish autumn rush of European trees and gardens.
The bush beyond celebrates the changes of season with an ancient subtlety noticed only by the few who care to indulge their senses in the sights and smells of a land ancient beyond comprehension.
Our modern life stalks the tightrope of time knowing that our own existence and disappearance from that realm will be but a blip.
Barely noticed
Barely seen
And ever so fast forgotten.