It’s me, your Mother, Mother Nature. Remember me?
I’m writing this letter to you now, because I could never get your attention before;
I whispered in the wind,
I roared in the waves and
I sang the sweetest birdsong,
But you could never hear me,
because you weren’t listening.
Ach darling, I’m wile sorry you’re sick. I hate you being scared and worried,
especially now when you’re stuck in your box, so I can’t sooth you.
We’ve become so disconnected, and that’s bad for both of us.
You were always indoors with artificial heat and light, eating artificial food and taking artificial medicine. I don’t understand why, because I provide everything you need, naturally, and you used to be so grateful to me for that. I remember when you honoured and respected me, you used to really look after me, back when we were close.
I don’t want to barge, especially now when you’re not well, but you did take me for granted love. I know you’re evolving, but you were just getting too big for your rubber- soled, man-made boots.
I especially miss the weans, and they miss me too. You don’t let them close enough to me to climb trees, splash puddles or dig dirt any more. They’re never free to feel fresh air on their beautiful wee faces, because they’re locked up in boxes, under close supervision, heads bowed to screens. I’m sad that some of them don’t know me at all.
And when you ARE with me, you’re not really present. You regard me as a photo opportunity; pixilating my beauty, filtering my perfection and uploading my wonder.
It‘s all over with the push of a button, as if you were never here at all.
You don’t just be you, being with me, like it used to be.
I’ve been unwell.
My temperature is rising. Pollution has given me a wile cough and my veins are all clogged up with plastic and rubbish. I am sick, but I’m also strong. Other species still know my worth, and are playing their part so we can all thrive. It’s just you that we seem to have lost.
Now you’re sick too,
you’ve had to slow down and stay in your box.
So now you miss me, as I’ve been missing you.
We will both get better, we’ll heal – together.
And when we do, let’s never lose touch again.
Your Mother, Nature
Michaela has been an avid diarist since she first held a pencil and worked out that writing words could get thoughts out of your head. She always considered her writing to be cathartic and personal, of no interest or importance to anyone else. Recently, she has revisited 40 years worth of diaries and letters and realised the value of her own story as social commentary, important to write and compelling to read. Her fear of sharing writing has been replaced by an undeniable ambition to complete her memoir.