Cities, mines, tracks, amusement parks, buildings, rooms, trains and planes and ships and cars and tires, cell phones, computers, wires and plastic. The detritus we make left in place as they fell, as they landed, as they existed in that eternal moment of being abandoned, as they were when what was alive and moving and thriving and breathing vanished, disappeared, transported, relocated, moved to parts unknown, merged with other life forces, walked away and into some place new. Nothing left but what remains: monuments, no memories. Blood and sweat and tears: invisible DNA of the madness of creation, disavowed.
Enter the gods of the elements, that which persists and succeeds in breaking down fabrications, lifting the paint, scorching the ground. A never-ending process to wipe away the colour, petrify the wood, degrade the leather, rust the steel, impede entrances, spread layers of dust and dirt, disperse and absorb and repurpose energy of unheard stories, unwhispered hopes and invisible loves; the moments that muffle the sounds and let in streaks of light and wild winds, water filling, washing away and leaving pools full of new life forms.
Enter the Empress of Time, elegant enabler who echoes across the ages: all that is abandoned is taken by the nature of its creator.