The crisp, white snow has smothered summer. It appears somebody has laid a sparkling white sheet over what was once summer and put it to bed. However, there is beauty in the winter too. The way the snow is sprinkled down from a grey, clouded sky and floats to the ground with grace and elegance, so pure. But spring must eventually wake up and pull of the pale blanket, revealing all the beauty it holds and melting away the snowy days.
Moss-laden bricks of grey-orange, fitting as guards on the threshold. Behind the fool’s-ancient wrought-iron gates. Where rows upon rows of crumbling mounds stood in various interpretations of upright, their pores bathing in light from an ill moon, ailing. Porous trees hunched over most of the void spared by the sickening light’s expanse, plunging the rest in healthy shadow. The place echoed.
To enter, I must skirt around a pile of wet leaves. Today there is no weather; there is no wind, just howling. The temperature is of a mild apparition and so I hear the winds company more so. The leaf barbs that bar nefarious entrance are of little consequence to my apt overage and the grey-orange guards do little but deposit their dust upon me and my cloth.
If the right to breathe clean air and grow vegetables not covered in pollutants is higher than the right to drive a car, then we have a powerful path to victory. Our rights to ongoing and sustainable living all over our planet must trump the so-called rights of others to make money or have convenience where the result is an obvious threat to the ecological life-support systems we all share. It's time to be real grown ups about this and find the will to put the future of our children above our own desires and wants.
Upon the grass stands the white house of the bees, the wooden panels still wet with raindrops. There is a gentle buzz in the air, a sense of business that comes with such creatures and somehow it belongs here as much as the wildflowers that bloom. Anya takes her rest upon a rock and lets her eyes do the dreaming, her brain weaving reality and an array of fantasies. The hive is something of beauty to her, a sweet community making something so amazing in a way she never could.
The birds flew through that ever developing canvas of the dawn, as if their wings were fine quills, drawing such buoyant hues. Those wings in that sky became the colours of my dreams and whenever I needed a memory to lift me off the ground, they were there.
His eyes were green. The kind of green that pushed its way through the piles of gritty snow to remind you that spring was coming. The kind of green that budded on the prisoners of winter, bringing life back to their branches. That churning, passionate green that the ocean turns during a storm. That colour of the forest after it rains. The colour of the tadpoles making ripples in the pond. That green colour that brings hope and life no matter what has happened. And looking into those eyes, I could see it. And he knew that I could.
The airplane felt like home to Claude, he'd flown in them so often. He could curl up and sleep as easily as dozing on the couch. The engines roared and the winded buffeted, it was his sky-born cradle, rocked by the winds far above the ground. Even as the engines turned, his brain relaxed into dreaming mode, there were thousands of miles to go and all he had to do was let this technological bird fly him there.
I...left to investigate their house in a low-rent neighborhood with dirt streets. One room with two windows open in the heat, burnished to silver-gray by the winds and fogs of the Minor Sea and raised on wooden posts. It smelled of fish. Their porch was a wooden box. A shed behind the house served them—and their neighbors—as privy. Inside were a fireplace, two beds shoved against opposite walls, a table, one chair, and a cupboard. There were a few baskets, one with dirty clothes, and a tin pail. I didn't see a lamp, and I didn't find candles. The only signs of food were crumbs and mouse scat. The fireplace was equipped with an iron truss, a kettle, and a pot. Under one bed, I found the leather case holding Aetref's lute. There were two, small, leather satchels, which resisted my efforts at spying, and that was the whole of their belongings and squalid life. There were no signs of female habitation or visitation.
Flaws. Boy, was he full of them. The scar above his cheekbone. His coldness towards people. His ability to scare away anyone that looked at him. However, that is usually only how deep people saw into him. But she? She saw him fully. She saw past all the nastiness that consumed and and saw what he truly was.
Beautiful.
Because was is a human being without their flaws? She knew that the flaws of those around her, no matter how hideous they are, make people who they are. They make everyone individual and their own person. And a being with flaws is a beautiful one. His flaws were the main reason she ever fell in love with him, and not some measly prince who has their whole life handed to them with a gold crown. She loved him, flaws and all.
That is what true love is.
My childhood pet was my hero and saviour. He was all love from those dark liquid eyes, a pure soul I was so blessed to bond with. He was the littlest dog in statue, in our neighbourhood anyway, but in heart he was a giant. He was that excited love when I came home, that sweet cuddle when it was the thing I craved the most. He was my buddy and for that I will forever be grateful and hold his memory as a treasure.
The small cottage was perched on the plain near the woods, so old and poor that it was surprising how it was still standing. And yet it seemed alive and welcoming, a warm ribbon of smoke rising from the old chimney. The walls were made of the same wood and the roof was clearly stone, so old that it was a wonder how it did not yet cave in. The cottage was the only thing there. There were no other houses around it, and this one would have looked abandoned if not for the smoke.
Let's have a "hero corp," a body of socially and environmentally minded folks that are paid a comfortable living wage for fifteen hours service per week with a bonus for education or training that is additional. They can work in health, education, environment, community service (including the arts, festivals and care of the elderly and disabled), relieving the workloads of overstressed caring staff. Then, when possible, those overburdened staff can be paid their regular full time wage for less hours until their hours match the "hero corp" workers. It would be a significant step up from Universal Basic Income because it gets people out of the house, interacting with others and learning new skills. For the disabled or elderly who want to join in we can find ways to help them get involved rather than leaving them out, enabling them to do whatever tasks they can contribute and enjoy. Everyone has a skill they can offer and whatever they can do is good enough for the rest of us... we should include them with thanks and with joy. When we run our society this way, there will be enough love nurture and care for everyone. It is a stepping stone into a fabulous future that is thriving and ecologically sound.
This would boost the health of workers in brain and body. It is vital that we do welcome them as heroes for the system to work and give them the same respect as any other worker in our vital services. The "Hero Corp" workers can choose whatever good cause they wish to support, to join an existing service/team or start a new one. There's a lot of people out there from all walks of life that want to improve our communities and environment, let's give them the help they need to help us all. In time we would expect to see happier communities with greater health, greater educational outcomes and greater law & order. In essence, we could expect to see a recovery of society and nature. Plus it is cheaper to solve poverty than not to, so this is the more fiscally sound option.