I can hear it clearly now… the low rumble of the distant thunder as it approaches us swaddled in swirly winds, drenched in shotgun showers shooting through the evening sky.

These are the winters of nowadays influenced by years of cronich climate change.

The skies infuriated by our lack of caring; exploding into gushing winds of weeping downpour, fiercely flooding fields nearby and way afar.

As Mother Nature tries to warn us of our fate, we look around and wonder why the snowy days of this cold season are so late. Why winter’s lost its cheerful chill and frosty bite.

Naive in hope the people say: “it may freeze tomorrow, or soon again some day“.

I see it all play out in front of us, praying we have taught our children better for their sake. For if we’ve not, the brontides will become much louder, rumbling more and more like hungry bowels in desperate need of nourishment, until we realise, that what we willfully un-hear we’ll end up feeling furiously as weathered storms take over winters past.

Let that be crystal clear.

Brontide - the time has come to hear you

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