Nature's Hard Reset

NATURE'S HARD RESET

 

I wake to the clamour of the landline announcing a telephone call. I really did drink too much on the plane last night. How the hell did I drive home in that condition through the thunderous gale?

 

The ignored caller rang off without leaving a message, but now I am almost fully awake. I know where I am, in my loft room, my study, my sanctuary, until.... No, once it was supposed to be my haven, back in the time when Jane was still with me, was still my wife. Now this room is a mausoleum for my broken soul, though I cannot will my mind to rest in peace. Even here, home on the rocky Jurassic coast of Wessex, my head is full of the images of Central Africa, the wanton poaching, the gun-toting safaris, all a mockery to the future protection of wildlife, balanced against the immediate desire for dollars, be it via Western hunter or Far Eastern hypochondriac.

 

I am naked under a duvet on the sofa, my lightweight tropical suit crumpled on the floor. It is bitingly cold and I hear driven rain hammering on the four roof lights, three small at the back and a larger one at the front. I really wanted dormer windows, so I could both enjoy the sea views or loo...

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Tony Spencer
Jun 18 2020

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