Chris R-1-70 Image by Christine Renney

Davis missed the road. More accurately, he missed the discipline it had provided. He no longer expected it to re-appear. Davis wasn’t searching for the road. In fact, he believed that if he was to find the centre then it was necessary to leave the road behind, abandon it and this hadn’t proved difficult. No roads had survived on the plains.
But the evidence that they had once been prevalent was everywhere. Much of it was unused and un-useable and Davis realised that, in order to take what they need, he and the others had to keep coming back, to sift through it.
The roads were redundant and the idea of starting in one place and making for another, of heading toward a destination, was futile. Grudgingly Davis had to admit it was fitting the roads hadn’t survived out on the plains. That they were no longer a part of this landscape, that the landscape had changed. It was even flatter than before, and even more barren, apart from the debris of course. And yet Davis still missed the road. He considered creating one of his own by using the now useless or unnecessary things. He could build a kerb or a bank or even a wall, building on either side of him as he walked.


chris r-1-55 Image by Christine Renney

Davis has a rucksack now but he hasn’t yet started to fill it. Slung across his back, its emptiness, its weightlessness, is a constant reminder that he has failed.
Davis sees others in the distance more frequently now and, like him, they seem lost, trapped here amidst the plentiful debris.
On the road he had been so filled with purpose and intent on a destination but he is all too aware this isn’t it. Davis has already walked where it began to lessen, to thin out but, turning himself around, he had made his way back here. To this vast expanse of nothing, where there is so much of everything.