I am in a field.

Birds, cheaps, wind, bumblebees, odd sounds I’m not sure of, rustling.


Its energising, the raw beauty of it fills my insides with an eclectic array of colours rising from my gut and seeping out of me right to my brain.


It’s all ruined. As it whizzes past it’s the story of our lives, of our era. The sound waves creep slowly into the scene, I’m aware of it rumbling away in the background, it’s coming, but I ignore it as much as I can to try and savour the serenity in the present. But it’s too late, I consciously register it in my brain.

I feel sick and shaky, it’s coming and there’s nothing that will stop it.

Louder and louder it churns, drowning the hum of existence in the natural world around it.

The birds are gone, there is no rustling or music. But a roaring loud thunder piercing every particle it can reach. It’s aggressive and shrouded, it tears through the scene as if it’s the only thing that matters. It hurts, drowning everything out except it’s own passing.

It is prominent and important bulging at the seems. For with that noise comes so much more, seeping bass from the combustion, the need for a road that separates a land field of nature, divided so its wheels can run smoothly.  The giant factories that take up precious biodiversity needed for the function of this planet, all to make what will end up a rusty pile in a sea of other man made monstrosity that only serve us for a minimal time but out live almost all of us in the end. No it is not just a sound I am hearing.

As it blazes away again into the distance, much like we shall, life finds away.  The chirps come back almost with a vengeance, the planet can breathe again, no extra effort or coughing needed. It heals itself and regains charge as the disgusting disruption sidles away into the background. It lay dormant as it passed, hibernated when it began wreaking havoc and stored its energy to be reborn, and sure as shit it does. The tides turn and again everything is restored to is natural harmony and rhythms.

This is the anthropocene.

And I do not like it.

I take solstice in knowing, that when we are removed from our wretched lives and pass onto the soil, life will find a way.


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