Over the hills and far away it seemed as though there was no end in sight, but of course that was due to the view being obstructed by the hills which were over the view.

On those hills were trees. Not all of the hills had trees, but many of them did. The trees spread across and none of that really mattered. What mattered was the yawning mouth of the rising sun as it engulfed everything in shadow and cast as much of its harsh light across the landscape, leading to a view that many would consider beautiful, but in this instance beautiful it did not feel.

Well, not to all. Some really did consider it beautiful, and they cast their critical eye across the scenery in order to try and add some meaning to it through the medium of words, but always falling short in these endeavours, for as beautiful and delicious as the land was, nature was as elusive as it was prominent and mere words were not enough to do it justice, no matter how loaded with meaning and intent they just so happened to be.

Still, it was difficult to fault them for trying, for sometimes something so overwhelming so as to become difficult to comprehend still needs some form of base in order to build a collective upon, and this is of course what those using their critical eye were doing their best to do. They were able to give a description and an idea, but the only way to truly experience and understand the whole thing was to be present rather than absent.

Perhaps in this instance being present may not have been the best idea, for the light seemed to be brighter than usual and it was almost too much to handle. Clouds seemed to be getting pushed away and evaporated into nothingness as the molecules that comprised their being broke down and were unable to reform back into what they were meant to reform.

It seemed as though even the grass was trying to shy away. The ocean nearby, of course, stood steadfast. Not much more evaporation than usual was occurring at its surface and it was oblivious to the brightness. However, that obliviousness was a chance at the ocean’s downfall, for it too would need to do something in order to cope with the inevitable.

This was all temporary, however, as eventually the gaping darkness would swallow the sun and, after enough passes, the sun would be far less powerful than it happened to be on that morning. Of course this too was temporary, for the cycle would continue. The sun didn’t want to break routine and people using their critical eye didn’t want to stop trying to describe the scene.

The sun would slowly alternate in its brightness and the night would continue to come and clean its aftermath.

It all kept on moving forward and turning, and little else changed other than the speed at which the treadmill moved.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 08:14:83

So I think it’s fair to say that the current state that New South Wales is in is influencing my writing a lot more than I’d like to admit.

I feel as though this is a bit more of a description than a narrative, if that makes sense.

Moved around a little too much.

Not great, not terrible. Kind of so-so.

Written at work.