There was a cloud of purple winged butterflies,

fluttering to and fro, settling like thistledown

on the flowers and leaves of the thickly wooded

slopes of the rising morning misted mountains.


Bees hummed amidst the ruby red geraniums, and

their tiny legs filled with he mysteries of multi

grains of pollen, carry back to their hives the 

richness of royal jelly and revitalising honey.


Crashing through the undergrowth an awkward

aardvark snuffles its way through the shifting 

grasses. Ants flow freely along the fingering

branches of the battered and broken beeches.


Life was luxurious in its capacity to feed and 

grow without greed and grumbling until, we

invaded their land, cutting down their trees,

burning their homes and their happy future.


Slowly, inexorably we created a desert where

life had teemed and twittering birds had sung, 

destroying the beautiful world and its balance

and despite the hour we defy the truth and 







Published by


margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.