Mother Nature did not take well to the slaughter of her children. Peace was what she demanded from death, kindness was incompatible. But peace was not a practice of those she let use her body. Destruction they brought, death they disrespected.
The horse one tenant of her body led to slaughter had been born of her brow and would be bled at her feet, but not by her hand. When man acted for her, she trembled at what they stole.
Rays of blinding light shone down.
The sun favoured nature, for it too had known the dirty hand of man.
It blinded them, those foolish tenants, even the cows and sheep. For if they were to harm her children she would show no mercy to theirs.
They learned to identify each other not by sight but by the size of their earlobes. Until their skin drooped so low all they saw were their wrinkled shoes.
But then light not born but made, blinded her in return.
They sat down, untied their laces, freed their sad shrivelled feet and placed them deep in her shawn hair. Soil tried to swallow them, desperate to take back control, worms slithered up their ankles, as she began to decay.