No birds
follow the plough any more..
Even the insects have gone; the soil so sterile only one thing will grow. Bees are the messengers, but who will they tell? I read how flowers emit a frequency to let the bees know when they have pollen. A beautiful detail we humans have only just learned. How hopeful it is to imagine all the other things we don’t yet know, we don’t yet have words for, we haven’t yet proved.
What frequency do we emit when we have time for others, patience, food on the table? What noise does loneliness make? What of longing? Contentment must be the sound of a round bumblebee on a summer evening. Follow its meandering flight from colour to colour scent to scent. Listen to what they have to tell you...