Imagine modern forms of energy were gone. The factories closed, the fossil fuels exhausted. No more power providing resources… just life. (Also, for those not as comfortable with flowery speech, imagine my name is Thoreau and this is a school assignment.)

The rebirth of the human spirit arrived as only blessings know how – unexpectedly and under the cover of tragedy. It was amazing how easily it returned to us when the berth of the “convenient” world was lifted from our shoulders. I can only figure it was with us all along, simply hidden underneath the complications of a more “expeditious” life. Lost under the hazy belief of self-sufficiency through technology was a strong and proud want of all people to be united with others. The once common purpose, the mandate to spread one’s ego, is dead.

I never knew how heavy a task breathing was until I first took in air for its taste and not its necessity. With a return to the world of endless lost corners and unexplained mysteries, I feel room to breath like I haven’t since youth. Barring those moments in which the magnitude of all of this freedom catches like cold wind in my throat, the action is now always sweet. In always knowing its reward comes glorious as the natural things can be, and free to us all as well, I can scarcely imagine its fragrance once some of the smog has burned off the land. I see it fade daily (at least things become ever clearer), and though nature has yet to catch up, it continues to make strong progress. How brilliant those ruins one day will be, lost within a forest. As of now, the constructions still stand as scar-like markings upon the landscape, but soon enough they will all be encased and lost fortresses – castles in the epic sense of the word. It has only been months, and the Earth has taken back so much already. Most roads are now budding forests, and animals inhabit the gas stations and high-rises alike.

Brilliant, right there! Ha! I love bizzar parallels… See, another thing about this new world, is that oddly enough, people no longer feel the urge to be so far above ground. Multiple story houses are still occupied, but anything above a few stories tends to be deserted. Funny that the relative invincibility of who we once were seemed to place faith in the metal and radio-waves to hold us up, and catch us when we fell. Stripped of those morosely post-modern inventions, two feet on firm, grassy ground just feels right. One of the few things I do miss, however, is the availability of mass produced literature. As sick as it sounds, most of the books already printed went the way of paper money in the post-apocalyptic panic of the first weeks after technological breakdown. Unable to burn books myself, I still have my collection, which I am sure will be well worn and memorized before I die. Honestly, though, in a way, I’m glad all those thoughts and stories are gone. Without them, there is no style to imitate, no standards to live up to, and a much greater ease to creating prose un-demeaned by possible imitation. We can have all new Homers, Frosts, Hughes, and Hesses. No longer will my poetry be referred to as Ginsberg-esque, but instead will have to be given merit of its own.