Art © 2023 Fluffgar
What is joy but the morning sun glowing on to the fruits you have grown. What is pleasure but the sweet honey of its juice going down your throat.
The people join hands in celebration. The planting is done. As they mingle, turbines turn wind into energy. It is a gentle hum, like a heartbeat, in the earth-tone houses.
Leaves glisten, the dew like miniature pearls. Vertical rows of bak choy, tomatoes and kale. Seedlings remain protected in their tiny sun rooms.
The carp dance in the water. They are animated Chinese calligraphy; watercolour painting turning into life. Above them the lotus open to the sun and the huge circular leaves act as shade.
They manage to fix the panels. There is a sigh of relief from all the groups. The sound of children playing is joyous music.
What is joy but the sound of crisp clean wind in your hair. What is pleasure but the feel of water on your skin.
Individuals pair up or move in trios. Family. Friends. Lovers. Diverse. Above them the tree takes in light and gives out oxygen.
During festival time, the children roll letters up and insert them into old glass bottles, which they then hang on trellises. Wishes for the future. Encouragement for people they care about. The bottles will be recycled. The trellises kept for the next festival. People take a bottle and read the letter within.
The forests are safe. Every weekend the children come and learn the ways of the trees, the animals and the insects.
What is hope but a green seedling cupped in your hands. What is hope but a letter to the future.
© 2023 Joyce Chng
© 2004-2023, The Future Fire: ISSN 1746-1839
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