For Ukraine ‘Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree and no one will make them afraid’ Micah 4:4 I rake sweet chestnut leaves into a pile, collect nuts that burst from star shaped shells, lean against the smooth trunk, and look up through the autumn canopy.
I am afraid when the leaves fall.
Drones approach, locusts, that whine and buzz, I cling to the grey column to escape their sting, hurry to the shop for bread, look over my shoulder, their metal rasp follows, increase my pace, break into a run, dash to the yew trees in the park, and hide among evergreen leaves, pushing my body among spines and blood red berries.
My neighbour drove for a manicure, for coloured glitter pictures on each nail; as she sat, her hands extended, a drone destroyed her car, she ran home fast in fear from tree to sheltering tree.
What shall we do in winter?