There are only two things which justify fighting: life and freedom. I will fight again if anyone tries to take my life or the life of the next person. I will fight if anyone tries to turn me into a slave. But i will never fight for 'ancestral rights', or for extra space, or for resources, or for the deceitful notion of 'national interests'.
Seen from a distance, the green, dark forest of winter of summer seems uniform. On closer examination, the deciduous trees, conifers and shrubs each have their own unique hues. Look closer still and you will see brilliant flowers and succulent fruits. The forest, which at first glance seemed to be an evergreen wall, is composed of hundreds of plant species. Many of these plants served the bushland people as foods, medicines and tools.
Subtle shades of green give way to garish reds and yellows as winter approaches. The leaves of deciduous trees change colours and fall to the ground, leaving branches bare. In the winter, trunks and branches are off white, grey and shades of brown, among the evergreen spruce. The sun, always low in the sky, occasionally catches the brilliant red twigs of a leafless shrub. Moose will eat these twigs in the winter, while they wait for the tender new vegetation which sprouts in the spring. Summer is lingering, Winter pushing. Autumn standing contemplative, impatient to get to Winter, yet reluctant to leave Summer.
Outside the water drips from leaf to leaf and comes to the sipping lip's of the Earth. She drinks joyously. The colours are brightening, rich and deep under the wet. The arbutus leaves are new and tender, not finished and done like the others. It has thrown off the old bark of its limbs in crinkly little rolls and under them the new bark is satin smooth, orange and red and green gold. The wasps are drunk.
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November 2017
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