(A prompt used for a writing group I joined) A pinkish, grey banner that had been red in the webbing of steel beams. . .
It spoke of a time long lost in the “Utah” skies. It fluttered in the wind, as the sun and breeze, beat the hue of such a prominent family. Lost in the times where acres and acres of land flew under red and white banner of Kennecott. Now, like the many family that have come and gone, the earth is reclaiming the land of another tenant, bent on conquering her precious land.
Once they dug and mined my rocks. Precious jewels they call them. Gold, silver, and now copper. They take and take, but give none in return. They cherish their medals and statues. Foolish ants building mounds that which does not improve. So this is progress.
Lo, these children, with such short lives, trying to mark this territory which is not theirs. Still, their 15 seconds burns like the stars in the night sky. Twice as bright and short on life. Not knowing the true meaning. . .still they move. Fast these creatures called man. They live so quickly. First, the dark skinned traveling in their tribes hunting the sacred bison. Bringing their teepees and arrows.
Then the blue coats from across the sea. They claimed discovering a new land and "New World." There were tenants before, Sioux, Chumash, Lakota. Many tribal nation tenants.. Evicted by these New Worlders. Followed by the stagecoach and wagoners building a new life, a new home.
Do they not know this is my home and of my children. They carve their statues, their monuments, to mark their place.
Their monuments--their true monuments--are their children. Their family. Their people. Dust whence they came. Dust where they'll return. Star dust so precious.
When they remember, all life is interconnected. Each one important and none should be taken so lightly. So easily. Their monument is each other. This is the true value. Not rocks and stones, but each other. Lesson still not learned by all.
Like hordes of insect building their mounds, their little towers that reach for the skies. They ravish thinking they conquered the lands. Like parents, letting children win in their little games. I allow them use of my beautiful lands. Trying to make it in their image. Once done, they let the land go. Nothing wasted, nothing lost. Nothing remembered, but their pinkish grey banner on the steel beams.
I will carve my landscape. I know these man child can create such pretty things. So beautiful reminders of courage and honor. Still, it is a wash. Room I must give to my tenants. Give them a chance to honor all is sacred.
I, Gaea, can only smile, a concerned smile. It is a lesson still unlearned. Such beauty. . .
Mining for riches and dreams for pieces of paper green. Bigger houses they can’t use. Oils that satiate their metal horses. Zoo-ing and slaving their fellow tenants. The horse. The cow. The bison. They think they are the master of all around. Such foolish games these children play. They gamble away their treasures, their future.
First conquering the animals, than with each other. They can't even conquer themselves. Dreams of power. Dreams of conquering. Dreams of dominion. I must, at times, shake their perspective, remind them who is the true Mother. Send my other children. Storm, thunder, flood, and quakes. Forces all around them. They in their pride act, as if, they are the dominant one.
Look at the roach. Survivor of war. Survivor of Ice. Survivor of the Bombardments of Space. These “Men” are just a blip. Age of the Dinosaur was a time. Tiny and small. Large and massive. Eaters of meat, chewers of green, these were an age when the times were lush. Green was a time. Massive trees. Massive beings all around. Nothing wasted. Herds roamed free. Cycle of life turned continuously. 
Now these ants, these children, these men, they strain me. They drain me. Children of man makes me erupt with anger and fury. They fire the skies with their petty quarreling on lines on a map. Stupid these ones are at times. Can only pray they find their wisdom quickly. So quickly. Perhaps they can find peace amongst themselves.
They hear my anger. Let the lands rumble with my displeasure. Let the winds sweep across their residence. Let my waters evict those that hurt my other children.
A deep sigh. . .I close my eyes for these children with their funny banners and their steel beams.Maybe in they will see their grandeur. Maybe they will see my other children also have grandeur. Perhaps, they will honor and respect their place in this circle.
Such promise, Dinosaurs were children once. Perhaps, Perhaps.
