A Decent Land — Appendix A
First Officer’s Poem
Binary sunlight creates an undulation of heat, which washes ‘cross the brush as a humid hurricane.
Our feet are bruised from days of journey, vines and snakes overhead, but the blinking motion of the dancing stars is almost too much to bear.
We have to remember, out loud sometimes, that we’re the proud progenitors of a verdant frontier. The abandoned land beneath our tramping is fertile; awaiting a rabid society.
I imagine kingdoms and empires here, fantastic castles of bark. We can learn from the folly of industrial avarice, and work with the landscape instead.
The only issue is the heat of twin suns, and their glittering, violent magnificence. The canopy of trees, a spectrum of green, does little to soften the rays. In fact, air trapped beneath the leaves is blistering, relentless and thick.
Regular jaunts to the ocean are truly encouraged for visiting squads. There, you get the best view of the stars as they heave in the sky, matrimonial.
And the sea is there to cool your skin, to allow you to marvel in comfort.
Then, return to the jungles again, reminded of beauty untold.
This piece was written at a local group for writers. I attended it for the first time…
