Fluid Farmscape

there was an aerial view of a large vast landscape. and suddenly, as if flood gates had been opened, the landscape became filled with rushing herds of human societal creations. let me explain, instead of rushing water over the landscape there were rushing buildings, roads, farms, animals, houses, gliding fastly over the soil and dropping in their places as they went. like when you pour wood stain over a plank the last drop settles the farthest away, leaving a trail of fully soaked in wood behind. a city such as manhattan was dropped off, and lastly out in the rural area a farm with a small pond and a house nestled at its edge. i was a resident in this house. i was a man. i had a wife and two daughters. somehow one day one or both of them wandered off and discovered some secret about the land and way of life, like perhaps they knew it was a strange place. we had to get them back and look them in the eyes, mouthing something undiscernable, to snap them back into our life. we did. the house was old, falling apart, but cozy. we had a maple tree outside that was changing colors, dropping leaves. we soon had neighbors, many, and roads. then one day, everything changed. we stepped outside, about to go on a long vacation-like journey when the landscape was changing before our very eyes: like a vacuum, sucking up the pieces on a carpet, all the animals and old farms were being taken away. in their place were troves of cars and metal and industry and high-tech newness. sweeping across our land was the next phase in the timeline of humanism. and there was the maple tree, changing colors, leaves gathered at its base.