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Cicada-like, this unprepossessing cross-city thoroughfare is the mother of reinvention. Cast your imagination back two hundred years and, in the middle-distance, at the first set of lights where now Market intersects with Pitt, there squelched a marshy swamp that segued into the Tank Stream. Today, prising its way from that primordial bog, is an abomination of a retail mall.
The toned muscles of these urban adventurers are in neutral as they pause for the light change at the corner of Market and Castlereagh in the retail heart of the city. Not for them the contemplation of red-coated marines kicking up dust behind them on Hyde Park. Not for them the fluttering bunting and cheering crowds that raucously welcomed Federation.
One generation builds up a city, and the next tears it down. An older generation laments the lost string to the past. The younger generation must adapt to achieve different goals.
2 comments:
I think it is called progress, but is it? I think the cyclists have a much easier life than riders of a century ago.
I like this piece. I agree the younger generation must adap to achieve different goals ... though I like history I'd hate to be stuck in the time of my forebears ... imagine, life without a computer or the web!
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