America
And lo, they marched ‘cross the ancient fjords and inlets of the sunbaked land, their skin parched and their legs tired. But they carried on. Oh yes. They carried on.
With each desperate gasp of hot, arid air they wanted to fall to their knees, let their packs slide from their backs, and close their throbbing eyes. Just for a moment.
But to delay meant death.
And so they soldiered on. For they knew their lives and the lives of their loved ones depended on it.
And when they finally settled in the New Land, they knew that their time had come. The pain and agony of such a long journey would not be for naught. The incalcuable losses, in lives, in years, in effort, would coalesce in the notion that their children, and their children’s childen, would find nourishment in a land unencumbered by European strife and war.
In short, they dreamed of tomorrow.
Across the horizon of their mind’s eye they could forsee a future of plenty. Of riches and bounty and peace. A land where their children’s children, and their children’s children could study Shakespeare, learn Latin, develop art, science, music and architecture. A new land of culture. A new land of aesthetic fulfillment. Of enlightenment. Of maturity.
That vision, over five hundred years ago, came to those first Americans who dreamed of a world of today they could only barely glimpse.
And now, five hundred years later, there’s these two.
Perhaps they should’ve saved themselves the trip.
