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Rated: E · Other · Community · #940477
This started out as how NOT to write...and frustration over all the noise.

The bulldozer and front-end loader circle the small field behind my house like a pair of doddering old dancers long past their prime. Everything shudders as black smoke belches and roars into the air. Small piles of dirt begin to build around them like throw rugs shoved around by shuffling feet. More and more heavy machines join the pair until the field looks like the dance floor of a slow-motion waltz contest.

Once in a while things come to a stop while the workmen, toy soldiers against the large machine bulks, walk around moving things with shovels and checking the site and depth of the holes. The machines seem to wait impatiently until the miniature men move out of their way, then resume their slow dance amidst great clouds of smoke and dust, accompanied by loud roars and beeps.

Squirrels and birds fall silent after trying to compete to be heard over the bellowing dancers. They aren't sure what kind of monsters have taken over their field. Monsters that have knocked down the lone towering pine in the middle. That were making both the ground and air shake. The birds finally give up and leave to find quieter trees and neighborhoods in which to sing and call.

The squirrels hang off of fences and low branches, keeping one eye on the monstrous dancers and the other on the various containers of critter food and bird seed set out by well-meaning humans, just in case some other squirrel tried to sneak in under the distracting chaos and steal their food.

The Summerhill's cat gets lucky when one of the rats-in-fur-coats gets a little careless and has both eyes on the dance field. Later that evening his people just can't think of why he doesn't eat as much as he usually does for dinner. Cats will always eat no matter if they've just eaten 5 minutes before. But the squirrel had been fat from the snacks and treats neighbors had set out, and the cat has dined well. He only takes two or three bites from his feed bowl, then strolls away.

The slow moving dancers form a line, like circus elephants head to tail, then crawl to a stop. The smoke dissipates and silence falls with a heavy and shocking abruptness. The toy men climb from the cabs of the heavy machines and walk towards their various normal sized vehicles to make plans for the next day before going their separate ways homeward. Bits and pieces of conversations can be heard about power lines and plumbing for the new development to come. Behind them lay a churned and torn dance floor, sad clumps of grass waving forlornly in the quickening evening breeze from high mounds of rich brown dirt. A lonely little "cheep?" is heard as if uttered in surprise at the almost abnormal silence after all the bellowing and roaring that had filled the air for hours.

Thus does the small green dance floor of a country field, once a home for goats and mice, flutter-bys and runny babbits, finally succumb to urban sprawl.

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