Yet Still She Calls Us

When spending time with Nature, looking at all her forms and expressions, we realise that she is beautiful because she is alive.

Even in terrible harshness, sharp and scarring, barren and bare. Even in death she breathes and allows the current of life to linger and flow. Inspired, we could accomplish so much from that impulsion to grow (undoubtedly provided this be natural and not synthetically provoked).

Yet synthetically provoked, favoured in this modern man’s world, most of it is already dead anyway. Plugged in yet disconnected. Another intelligence, unnatural, artificial.

Moulded. Printed. Frozen. Fixed. Boxed. Judged. Calculated.

Sold off to the highest or best placed bidder until no more can Nature give. All similarly shameful, synthetically, most of it unnaturally dead anyway.

Chopped, polluted and culled for considerable earning. Big bucks.

Rewards and returns that barely uphold the grace and honours provided by the greatest of all mothers. Unconditionally, for each and every one of us.

As insolent, misbehaved children we’ve shown too little respect for our incredible home here on this rock. Most still forget to just do their best.

Yet still she calls us. Home for dinner. To chastise us by the fire. To stroke our hair and remind us, that we will always have a home here with her, lovingly, if only we choose to honour our life within Nature. And maybe, just maybe. Harmoniously. As one amongst each other.

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