The Safe Road

"Do as I do," said Mama, "you will be safe. We are walking together on this road." The road is seven feet wide and four billion years long. All my ancestors went before me and my descendants followed behind.

Today the road is a pair of tractor grass crying-psychosis. The stinging noise made me have a headache, and my mother said that if I listened too long, it would drive me crazy. He picks up a handful of grass on the side of the road. When formed, the grass is quiet. The road is wide, and the grass of the mind is silent because it has a few words to shout about.

My daughter is behind me. I repeat what my mother said to me. "Do as I do you will be safe. We are both on this road together."

I show my daughter how to cut grass. My daughter teaches my granddaughter, who teaches my granddaughter, and we all down the line will be safe. Finally, the field is behind me, its weeping has subsided.

Tractor ropes extend into a dirt road. Butterflies grow on both sides, so long that their streams block the sun. The tips of the tree branches produce poisonous butterflies with red and blue and green wings. Butterflies fall like raindrops onto the road. They spread their wings a few feet above our heads and flew there, ready to attack.

My mother taught me to use an electric umbrella to drink any butterflies that came close to my head, and I passed the trick on to my daughter. We march, our umbrellas open, we hear the sound of butterflies. The fallen wings are like confetti, but they are squishy, ​​with a foul odor of burnt flesh.

I am happy when we leave the butterfly forest and the road becomes flat and wide and paved. We fight off germs full of germs and exploding mushrooms. My mother shows me how to deal with everything we experience, and I share this precious information with my daughter. But he is not thankful. As we cut the radiant melons, he asks, "Why should we destroy everything we pass?"

I'm not sure of the answer, I asked Mom, although she would think I was ungrateful. Finally, he answers, "We must make the world safer for our children. One day, the whole world will be our roadway."

What Mom says is always right, but hearing this hurts me. The road is safe, but also empty and empty. I pass on Mom's message to my daughter. He shares my grief.

The road is a five-lane highway that runs along the coast. My mother protected me from the blood-sucking ax by dipping its shell in a titanium cannonball. I wonder if clams are really dangerous. I put down my cannonball and picked up a clam at the end of the highway. It sticks to my arm and drips my blood. I release it.

“Don't do that,” I told my daughter.

I throw the mussel into the sea. No other clams approached me. The first mussel did not attack until I picked it up. I stand on the side of the road. I do not know what is outside, other than the safety of the road that my ancestors recorded. There is no one I can follow.

I do not want my daughter to live in a world of roads.

I'm off the street. The sand is soft under my feet, harvesting more than the paved road. My daughter is standing behind me, waiting for me to move on to follow. I turned and walked along the road, returning to the way it had helped. Watermelons are radiant, but the storms seem harmless. We will not know about wild mushrooms; they are all destroyed.

Butterflies are usually dead and do not buy anything, but I find one that removed the butterflies from the tips of its branches. The blue butterfly falls, and I hold it in my hands. It is nontoxic. It's weird, but it's good. I carry it to an empty tree, and my daughter grabs another and carries it, and with the work of many generations, the forest will be healed. I always look forward to the restoration. My daughter goes on without me, when she comes to visit me, she tells me about a grassy field that no longer shouts, but sings.