“Then suddenly he knew why he had never wanted to own any of
it, arrest at least that much of what people called progress, measure his
longevity at least against that much of its ultimate fate. He seemed to see . . . a dimension free of
both time and space where once more the untreed land warped and wrung to
mathematical squares of rank cotton for the frantic old-world people to turn
into shells to shoot at one another, would find ample room for both – the names,
the faces of the old men he had known and loved and for a little while
outlived, moving again among the shades of tall unaxed trees and sightless
brakes where the wild strong immortal game ran forever before the tireless
belling immortal hounds, falling and rising phoenix-like to the soundless guns.”
Next: Running for Your Life: Concrete Utopia
