I had this experience and wrote it down last week and am just getting around to typing it up. I was sitting in the shade of the white poplar trees I planted some years ago while eating my lunch of sliced apples and peanut butter with mint from the garden steeped for tea. Despite our drought, the Apache roses were putting out their red and yellow blossoms and on the other side of the yard the frilly double poppies waved in the breeze. The Cinquefoil was dotted with yellow. Other plants and bushes either had bloomed or promised for the future.
Behind me was the house I rent. It's not modern but gives comfortable shelter.
All of a sudden I thought of all the people who have had their homes and gardens destroyed by war, by deliberate bulldozing. I thought of the care and hope that has gone into planting gardens, trees, watching them grow. Some had wonderful very old trees. Then in a few minutes all is destroyed by bombs, by bulldozing.
Tears came to my eyes at these thoughts. What I have planted means a lot to me. I have had trees, etc. destroyed by accident. I know how badly I felt. So I think I know a very little of how these people must feel.
I think of all the comfortable people who could do something to stop that destruction of houses and trees, etc. Yet will they even listen or read what they can do? If they do read, will they do anything?
Yet, if one person does something that is important! It is like a slight correction on the tiller of a boat. That slight movement can prevent an accident.
As I felt the tears, the urge came to write of this experience. The realization seemed to have been given to me to have a way to approach the subject. If it gets, printed, it may encourage some to think and act to end these said activities. Whether or not it does, I will at least have done one of the things I can do to make change happen.