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"The Bastion of Pericles"
What the Industrial Revolution had taught the populace was that much did not necessarily mean more.As cities grew in size, plains folk left the farms and orchards in search of the opportunity so loosely spoken of in tales handed back by those who had gone before.Much had been lost in the transmission,and towered city walls have little in common with orchard rows.
The cities grew,burgeoned metropolises with skies shielded from them by the smoke of their production.
There was,however,hope.It may not spring eternal,but it indeed does its best.There still survived,in part,the old town,its market once purveying produce from farms which the city overgrew.It struggled now to keep its stockrooms full,as distance overcame it,but still it held.Around its walls,once freed upon all sides by treed embankments,there huddled remnants of the old ways,less prominent in their display as towered city block indeed,but still there none the less.
And so it stayed,this bastion of Pericles,beckoning to those who could recall it,and waiting for the circle to complete.
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