Valleys of Gold

The hills rolled onward, shadowed from the sun by the thick canopy of the booming oaks and willows. Atop the peaks rested trees of all types; some shooting upward to the sky, others fallen by the harsh winter, lay waiting to decay and rejoin the life-cycle. The canopy of green leaves absorbed the life-giving rays of sunshine while keeping the ground cool and damp, but not wet. Leaves fallen from seasons past piled atop each other, knowing no other duty than to hide the bountiful soil from the tread of man and animal alike. In the valleys were small streams and brooks of clean and clear water. Most moved at only a trickle, until further downhill the many tributaries converged into one; a larger rush of water that continued through the earth until it finally found its outlet. At the mouth of the river was a lake. It was small and blue, and boasted a thriving ecosystem. Woodsmen fished the lake, taking only what they needed. The smallest fish in the lake made the best bait for the larger fish; and so the cycle of life continued. The surface of the lake was calm, broken only by the occasional leap of a fish. All around the lake animals frolicked about. Some drank from the lake or the stream and the water was cool and clear. The vein of all this life had run blue for millennia, nurturing this bountiful valley and all of its beings. From the first seed that broke through the earth, to the school of trout that fed hunters and gatherers for generations before their genocide.

And now, the same stream that quenched the thirst of the architects of its demise runs black and slick. When legislation had failed, mathematics and steel were entrusted to keep this valley safe from the taint of man’s touch. “Our pipes are the greatest!” the strongman cried, “our math is the best math!” So the pockets of the Tyrantosaurus-Rex’s of the world found themselves lined with gold; black gold being ushered forth too frantically from somewhere they’ve never had the fortune to experience — nor will they ever.