The Evitable

The chilled wind whistles through her hair Her locks of charcoal twist and tumble on her shoulders She looks out at the amber field Watching each strand of wheat bend as if God himself were running his hands through it The birds hum and tweet in harmony creating a beautiful melody. Laying on the ground, she feels each strand of grass between her fingers She smiles because nature is beautiful. sput, sput, sput She is suddenly awoken by the sound of a 18-wheeler speeding down the highway Her eyes flutter open and she peers beneath her long lashes The chilled wind is no longer delicate as it rips and stings her face it makes her cough The amber field is now a massive coal power plant The birds stopped coming a long time ago The only sounds now are of machinery and orders over an intercom The grass is still around only fake She cries because nature was beautiful