Where would we all be without Nature?
And yet we do so much to harm and destroy her beauty with ugliness and disease. She is our Earth Mother, the sole reason we live, but our repayment is to fling filth in her face.
John Clare was born on a farm, lived, breathed, and worshiped the countryside as the giver of life, yet he also suffered the sight of human rejection of this earthly bounty through polluting, poisoning and desecrating the natural world of riches that had taken millenia to create, by gouging it out of the earth with steel and iron tools that left it scarred and wounded beyond all power to heal.
In his lifetime, hedgerows and common land would be destroyed by human avarice, to create factories that consumed huge quantities of irreplaceable natural resources, and farm labourers thrown off the land they had worked for countless generations by land enclosure.
The landscape would be pock marked by satanic mills belching out smoke and fire from furnaces to rival the fires of hell.
In the midst of this unholy, grubby, and maniacal rush for wealth, John Clare lost his mind and wasted his life away in a lunatic asylum.
To be sensitive to the invisible world around you is a heavy enough burden, but to also feel the visible world so heavily as well, must be a crushing weight to carry.