I have been missing for a while, occupied with other projects, but today I’m posting this photo poem in response to the disgusting netting of trees and hedges in the UK. Building developers want to stop wildlife and birds interfering with their plans. So, because it is illegal to cut down a tree with nesting birds, this is how they get round it. Sadly wildlife is frequently trapped. Cruel and disturbing is an understatement.
The article ends by saying, ‘…useful management tools to guide animals away from particular areas.’ Surely everyone loves garden birds – robins, wrens, blue tits, thrushes, blackbirds and our favourite cheeky sparrows plus many more.
Everything that is netted is to be destroyed and it’s happening throughout the UK. All in the name of greed. And do not tell me they are building ‘affordable’ housing. Round here no new build is affordable. It is horrendous.
What upsets me, apart from the obvious, is the ignorance shown throughout the world regarding nature, especially trees. Without them we die, they are our lungs. Why is this not understood? There is something very sinister stalking our beautiful planet.
Please share this picture if you wish, however, those in the UK, I urge you to sign the petition to stop this awful practice: https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/244233
That I breathe
As I drive
Through the trees
Speak to me
Of green in my veins
Calling from days
When running free
In air so clean
Not even this place
A tangible trace
Of that which is lost
To those who
Drive too fast
The leafy blur
A speeding scene
Hold their breath
Lowering the glass
Breeze whipped hair
Feel the fresh sting
Dampness of earth
Washing the skin
Standing alone an oak solid and high,
Strong to the world of elements that change.
Ancient of leaf, silent whisper and sigh,
Sensing all life throughout each entire age.
Wands of branches touching with deep insight,
Future vision is seen with clarity.
Rowan sits high within the force of life,
Wood inspired protection held magically.
Watching the path reborn on buried time,
Yew waits at the end of the fading day.
Decaying roots grown through eons of lines,
Speaking words of long buried ancient ways.
If what was known, as Dryads’ silent spells,
The everlasting story nature tells.