Declaration embraced like group-think, suggests nature is an escape, loose clarifications from city folk, insisting that planting tomatoes on rooftops to secure sunlight, void in their windowless chateaus, expresses nature’s follies and exposes green thumb etiquette is ripe with nourishing calluses. But nature is no more an escape than time travel is as a disintegration of molecules, transferred from ancient Rome to contemporary Constantinople. Nature is a constant presence, to escape from it requires death, but even in decomposition nature retains omnipotence.
Thoreau enters Starbucks, orders a cup of dark roast, situates himself near an outlet (so he may charge his laptop). Sits down and opens his computer, connects to the free WiFi and visits his Tumblr page. He posts pictures, crouching by Walden pond, staring at the sky, brandishing a quizzical expression, to which he captions the pictures, escaping from the city to reunite with Nature. He receives a like from EmerzonHottie420.
Cottagecore (play in One Act)
Stella, an elderly woman, opens her kitchen window, dresses her fingers in oven mitts. She opens her oven and removes an apple pie, places it on the windowsill. Man named Godot approaches the window.
Godot: Smells amazing.
Stella: You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.
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