Romania, I

tour bus bumping along romanian roads-- crass tourism. hills untouched-- terraces of these remain, though grass has grown over them. one time a few years ago i was going boating at clinton lake. i remember getting out of the car my gaze resting on wildgrass growing alongside the paved parking lot.
'i'll bet there's not a place in this world that hasn't been touched by humans,' i said to him.
'maybe there is.'
'where would it be?' speculations conclude perhaps the russian steppes, sparsely populated tundra of sibera may, perhaps, hold a place.

i have wondered about it, agitatedly, since. have we really, in our footprints, covered the whole terrain of the globe?

here,here in transylvania, i think perhaps there is still such a space. the vast outlays of land stretching further than cultivation, domestication could reach, rekindle my hope. but deterring a conclusive thesis, i recall the centuries of life sustained here before this one.

perhaps my place has not yet come.