Nature dresses up the detritus of our fallen civilizations. After all but the most resolute stonework has crumbled, cool faces of stone having sloughed off to leave rugged, pitted rock, all that stands testament to life is the tall grass that sways in the wind.
Rubble cubes lie like piled dice. Temples and throne halls collapsed into mossy blocks brought low by the meager -- if inexorable -- forces of water drips and grass roots, roots that became wedges, splitting stone from stone. People push the blocks back together in homage to ancestors, but turn one's back and the hungry jungle consumes. Those ancestors crafted such sturdy stuff out of stout stone blocks. How much more quickly will our planned obsolescent cities be swallowed? stout stone blocks - toppled, dissolved, buried - a city swallowed
Taken in July of 2010 at Machu Picchu.
Taken in October of 2012 at Angkor
