No Hawthornian Separation

Lala, “the Martial Arts Buffalo,” munches on a banana peel and sports on avant-garde hat of crows, surpassing the fashion of Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex in the City who only parades 1 dead blue jay in her hair. The goats eating (they can’t be bothered to do much else) from afar, escape their dilapidated pen into the realm of unkept grass and clothing line. The tilled earth beside contains perfect lines of sprouting cabbage, dead spinach, and reddening tomatoes ½ an inch apart. The bones of a tree support crawling legumes with quarter-sized flowers. Nearby every shade of green can be found on the sky scraper trees and fire hydrogen plants, which in parts are grouped so closely you can’t stick your foot in. Mile long carpets of rice contain sari-ied women and shirtless men, smiling, laughing, singing. The black radio pipes music into the frequent mosquito. There is no Hawthornian separation between nature and man. Each bleeds into the other.

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