When a green finger hurts

I have lived all my life with a green finger. Now scurvied by years of abuse in the urban wilderness, it joins my palsied lungs in an anguished cry. For clean air. For fresh water. For uncontaminated soil. For quiet.

Around me, the poisoned land is fast losing the battle against the organised murder of our wild spaces. Property developers, politicians and rapacious consumers like you and me have tilted the eco-balance in favour of catastrophe. We have unnatural weather patterns caused by global warming. And we have George W. Bush & Co. who cannot yet take cognizance of its seriousness.

For ecologists, it’s a thankless job. My friend who heads a conservation group said, “It’s a losing battle, but we have to fight it for the small victories.”

This blog is dedicated to those small victories.

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