The motorway bridge


The concrete pillars rise like tree trunks, thick, strong, their grey surface mottled with lichen, stained green and brown and red by the action of the colonies of single celled organisms. Artificial in the extreme yet at the same time harbouring a wealth of natural life, transplanted from their usual biome by the coming of the industrial landscape, but oblivious to the human travails, the joys and sorrows, the wealth of mans abilities and experiences.

The lichen doesn’t care whether it sits upon the bark of an ancient oak, magnificent in it’s strength and beauty, or some grimy concrete pillar supporting a hundred thousands cars and trucks as they speed about their daily lives. For the lichen they are the same, indistinguishable yet to man one expresses progress, development, wealth, power, the other is a remnant, a reminder of a time when nature was sovereign.

Perhaps she will be again….

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