All good things.
My house, my heart. Stone, wildlife, fields, nature, peace. Open skies and long views. Foxes. Deer. Birdsong. A place I felt safe. A place we made our own, and lived with nature and hoped and dreamed.
But no more. Last week a building contractor started to build 312 houses on our fields with no warning, on 40-year old planning permission. No-one was told. No one can do anything. The fields are conservation land. None of this matters.
Today I awoke to the buzz of chainsaws. I watched helplessly as beautiful trees were slashed down, one by one. Homes of birds, homes of animals, living trees, gone in a matter of minutes. I felt as though a piece of me screamed with each branch, each trunk. A physical pain, ripping a part of me away as each tree died in a mess of metal and chain and petrol and noise.
And it continues. And will continue, until the views are gone, until the animals are homeless, until each and every sightline is blocked by soulless, intrusive boxes. Until the rich developers are even richer. Until green is replaced by grey. Until our dream is destroyed.