A feather in the morning dew.
And many tangled webs .
A bit like my thoughts, today.
This one I considered from different angles:
The point was supposed to be that things look different when viewed from different perspective. I think they do, but I picked a poor example. Some things stink, whichever way you look at them.
To what do I refer?
Really, I don’t much like my species.
They fill me with despair.
Pointless, it may be, for me to wring my hands or shed tears for unknown souls. I am here, safe and sound .
“What can I do?”
But I am unable to feel nothing.
A broken butterfly was in a flowerbed this morning, wings both torn. A very tiny tragedy but enough to put me over the edge.
And I learned the plight of the brave ex-Marine trying to leave Afghanistan with the dogs and cats he’s rescued, as well as the staff who cared for them. A special plane had been chartered, they only needed to be allowed access.
But after the bombings, it seems unlikely they will get through
Pets have no priority. So what will be their fate?
It really breaks my heart.
Mostly because none of these awful things ever needed to happen.
What kind of species are we?