Sounds of the earths crust shrinking echoed on deaf ears, waiting for the soul of life to return.
Vision of Greatness copyright 2005
written by
Joe Vojt
Thunderstorms and violent winds kicked up dust pockets especially during the July months and yet water has not been generated. Black fearless clouds have signs of moisture within, but only dry sand continues being spread. Water becomes more valuable then gold, because survival is based on that one single commodity.
The same swirl of dust could be seen off in the distance as it covered an old wagon heading into the depths and heart of the great desert where time has not changed. It was dark and yet no shadows could be seen, nothing helped break the motion of the new. The terrain had air-scalloped lines that were like the tops of seashells. Those heavy wheels could be seen cutting through the shadows that were made by the wagon. While passing through the parched land of sand, sounds of the earths crust shrinking echoed on deaf ears.
The yellow resinous grains moved back and forth with a bleached whiteness that felt more like the sun breaking into the essence of life. Once those erosive forces had slowed, a new feeling reached his mind it was like a transformation occurred.
He somehow knew this appalling sunbaked earth felt like a transient inferno. A brilliant sun felt trapped within the earth’s crust as effulgent rays of light were breaking out between the wheels of movement. It became tame and more like a mute testimony of extremes.
Modernization of the human element did little to forester changes in this society. When the Native American Indians became peaceful inhabitants, the desert became a heaven for popular therapeutic rest. Once a great force the Native American became but a servant to mankind, but never forgot the greatness of the plains. Baron wasteland could not be altered because the sand of time only shifts and is never shaped beyond natures will.
Water being once plentiful generated new land developments that quickly grew during the gold rush, but now stand weather beaten and lonely, waiting for the soul of life to return. Forces of evil were not only controlled in a land that has a heritage reaching beyond those that now live. New civilizations developed missionaries and wagon trains stopped in the sandy plains and formed towns of worth.
Old trade routes became highways of concrete and with that the population traveled frequently through or rested near the haven of the sun. Mining of less precious minerals, was a part of the region. Each town had tales or a culture of what was once unique. Dry land became irrigated from the great rivers, but slowly one by one they became a trickled supply.
Normal rainfall would no longer be supported in the dryness of the semiarid desert. Many of the pastoral enterprises included cattle raising and the farm invasion hurt this region. With diversification the economy began growing and with it an urban society was created.
Many changes began and out of this dryness and swirling sand, towns stood weather beaten reflecting what has become normal for the region. Tents and temporary structures were a part of their past.
Just as life during the pandemic was color-coded with different hues representing different levels of danger, life in its aftermath has become shaded in similar ways. As a self-styled “Seeker of Beauty with Beauty,” (borrowing from a quote by W.E.B.
Major League ballplayer Justin Moore is kidnapped from his own ballpark and transported to a foreign land. It might take high-level international negotiations to free him. Or maybe he will take matters into his own hands.
Hearts of Gold
Synopsis
by
Frank P. Whyte
Portland, Oregon is known as the City of Roses. Of course that’s an odd name for a city whose mere mention conjures images of driving winds and torrential ra
Vision of Greatness copyright 2005
