…When angry, paint Bamboo

Years had gone by – decades, and still no real change. The bamboo grew dense and high, rattled by the breeze and furious in the gales which often struck it. Unexpectedly, there’d be periods of calm when only an occasional rustle would disturb the air. These were peaceful times when all seemed well with the world. The steady soil pushed up new growth. Ideas and projects swelled and flowered into fullness. The future promised progress and all was deceptively calm; however, a step away from the path and one could lose one’s footing. What seemed safe and solid would suddenly show itself to be slippery and hazardous. A menacing darkness exhibited deep, unnerving shadows exploding from a black centre and stealing one’s breath away.Dark tensions wildly swirling and crazed questions demanding impossible answers. There were no answers to these, no easy response. All was lost, wasted. Success destroyed by a storm of suspicion and ignorance and a signal to hit out. Emotional turmoil tore violently into the precious root, leaving it a twisted, distorted shrivelled thing with scant chance of survival. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm blew over, but a trail of damage was left behind; and there it was again, the sense that nothing had really happened. All would continue as before. The wild wind had dropped and the storm had blown itself out. Only those left behind to pick up the wreckage and wonder what it had all been about. All the effort and care, blown to pieces in a few moments…

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One Response to …When angry, paint Bamboo

  1. Andi Pearson says:

    I’m not sure if it was intended, but this reflects my feelings about the chaotic happenings in British politics at the moment. A very clever piece of writing.

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