Fiction: Group 3
of the birds creating an instrumental harmony. Next to you, is a small garden with spices and herbs grown in
spectacular colours, supported by the peaceful sound of wind glazing through to tree’s “shhhhh”, “shaaa”
peace finding its way to you as you work, listening to the movement of the big forest. No roads, just your
normal original earth under your feet as you feel the grit of the floor as you walk, and if I may add, serves
greatly as a foot massage. All energy coming from the solar panels above us on the rooftop, the sun gladly
providing enough energy for our daily use of electronics, of course as well, with limitations.
But if only, if only we were able to resist the temptations of the human heart, maybe, just maybe, we
wouldn’t had fallen so deep into our own trap. Just as the “wound widening in the sky, God is labouring to
utter his last cry.” - Report to Wordsworth by Boey Kim Cheng. (Poem Extract)
