Vast. That would be — is, my one word to describe it all.
Only mere spots, patches even, of green. Evergreens. The pine needles stay all year round, but now with the weather warming up, the trees seem to stand a bit…prouder, taller. They’re waiting for their chance to shine and overpower the landscape with a luscious brush stroke of a singular green. Even the road as intrusive and vast as it is, in it’s own right, is belittled. The road, I would describe as…vast, yes, but more so barren. At night you are alone. Not lonely: completely and utterly alone. It is pitch black, not a star in the sky to light the way until morning peeks out somewhere over the horizon; somewhere far off in the unknown. Even then you are still alone — there’s light, but it’s lonely. The sky begins to take hue, battling with itself between it’s familiar, uniform blue vs. the array of colors that paint the sky; that people whisper in awe and marvel at during these hours of daybreak. Customary morning dew coats the ground, blade by blade, but as you climb higher up the mountain there is fog. Fog that consumes and engulfs you. Fog that leaves us to our thoughts, the low buzz of the radio, and the roar of an engine.
It intrigues us.
It scares us.
It is the vastness of the world around us.