like a breath inhaled.
There was no hum of traffic, no roar of planes, no rumble of trains
in the valley below. Instead there was birdsong, the buzzing of bees, and
the breeze making music through the branches and long grasses.
Water rippled, silver, clear for the first time in years, like
the sky, no longer gasping with dust and smog and exhaust,
and the world was quiet.
We trod lightly, for the most part, as our ancestors once did, when
The land was our home and we respected it as such. Before
the darkness came, the spreading stain of factory and mill and
blackened tower and we forgot what it was to smell fresh leaves and
sweet flowers and to feel the breeze hum against our skin, the way
water rippled like silver snakes, the sky clear above us.
But now, perhaps, we remember again. We turn away from black tower and
rumbling traffic and clogged skies and we’re reminded
of how it used to be, when the water rippled silver, and the birds sang,
and the world was quiet, once more.
This is my response to Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto challenge. Sue’s photo this week helped me to articulate something I’d been thinking about for a little while. We’ve been given a chance to see what the world looks like when we slow down – what will we do with that information going forward?
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