I see the forest through a blue filter.
It's like I'm underwater, though I'm sitting on a log.
The trees, tall around me, glisten in the snow's bright light.
It's almost serene,
but not quite.
At the edges of my vision, suburbia sits quietly.
Every few minutes, a jet passes overhead.
There is no escape
from what we have made.
The branding is everywhere:
the clothes I wear,
this pen, this paper.
They all share one thing with the quaint homes that surround me from afar
and all the faceless souls trapped within them.
There are a billion others,
just like them,
scattered across the earth.
Is this really worth your time?