Love Letters to Nature

An Angel's Weakness.

He sighed, laying down and basking in the soft caress of the cheerful sun, its warmth seeping deep into the marrow of his bones.

He stretched, slowly revelling in the sensation as the rich green grass tickled his ivory wings with every change of direction that the wind made.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to relish in the flurry of scents that stroke his nose: Rose and Arabian Jasmine, Honeysuckle and Freesia.

He let his eyes open up to the stream that ran beside him, gurgling joyfully and glinting beneath the loving rays of the sun high above.

He smiled but dared not chuckle as he watched a couple of squirrels scramble their way into a nearby tree, going higher and higher until only the rustling leaves and groaning branches hinted at their location.

This is the dwelling gifted to Humans: from the second their birthing cries erupt; to the very moment they breathe their last.

And yet they kill all this colour, and movement, and life, in order to make way and material for the ugly structures that they all huddled in now, hundreds stacked atop each other like a feeble stack- a single hopeful wave would be enough to topple them into oblivion.

No wonder they got bored.