Subtle grey

Tonight the sun set in streaky shades of subtle grey, is if it didn’t feel we were deserving of its blazing exit. As I watched it sadly fade away, I had the fanciful idea that it was saying:

“I have watched over you for eons. Without me your trees wouldn’t grow, and your first ancestor would not have been conceived. I give you life and light and health and more besides. Without me your earth would be dust, and you, not even a speck upon its infertile crust. Oceans would be frozen, mountains would not cast sharp shadow across the land. Darkness would prevail – deep darkness the like of which you have never seen.

“You need me, but I have no need of you. You clutter my view and you damage the planet, when you should be giving thanks for all that you have. You humans are forever grasping, always wanting more for yourselves, always thinking that the land you live in is yours, and like spoilt children, refusing to share. This will be your ultimate downfall.”

The sun disappeared behind the hills. Then, like an afterthought, it painted a portion of the sky in a ripe apricot shade, illuminating a wind turbine on the horizon. I gazed at the haloed wind turbine until the glow shrank and disappeared.

It felt like a last minute message of hope, and a quiet thank you for those who try to make the world a fairer place.

©Jane Paterson Basil