In the depths of an untouched forest sits a traveler on a moss covered, weather beaten tree stump. Diffused light trickles down from the grasping tree tops. The air is cool, wet, and pure. His breath is quick, his heartbeat thrums along. Dew drips off the hat he wears as he stares at the ground and ponders his position. All morning this man has walked until the sun has barely been up, at which point he allowed himself a moments reprieve.
His thoughts are gentle and slow. The usual cacophony of birds and grasshoppers are quiet today, as if they wish to imbue the man with their energy.
The man is running.
A moment later and he’s up again, resuming his march through the sodden woods. By now his breathing is deep; he’s inhaling great lungful’s of life.
Behind his brisk steps are the sounds of cars honking and people yelling, guns firing at the innocent and unarmed, panic and disaster and chaos, piercing light, blinding noise.
Behind his brisk steps he leaves an ailing society. One focused on ego and useless material wealth.
The man is running, not from innovation and comfort, but monotony and the decadence of the human mind.