Friday, October 8, 2021

The Metaphor of the August Forest

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It was a magnificent fall day in the forest. The 

ceiling of the world unblemished by the vaguest wisp 

of cloud, neither pleasant white nor grey-streaked 

black truculently threatening -- and the autumn sun 

claiming its sovereignty over all, warming the 

atmosphere and bringing diffused light to the perpetual 

dusk of the forest interior. Still, all was chaotic. 

Deciduous trees still clasped their dark green leaves 

yet the forest floor was steeped deep in a veritable 

kaleidoscope of colour, rejects from the forest canopy 

carpeting the woodland trails that all may trod upon them. 

As though not demeaning enough to the variant attributes 

of natural selection there for all to see dark-skinned 

pretenders shielding their true identity in the purity

of white-skinned bark not normally associated with 

their kind; a rebuke to nature affecting equality in

all her creatures, a sentiment which fails to penetrate

the subconscious superiority of white entitlement.




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