Dark Dawn

''I talk to God but the sky is empty'' - Sylvia Plath

Drop-by-drop, light leaks across the landscape. Not pure sunlight but a grey luminescence clouded by dusty mist. Sights which formerly flooded eyes with joyful colour seem sombre and desolate today. Life itself appears shallow and empty: it was anything but in happier times. These wintry mornings must be endured so warmth can rest and regain its strength. All the same, day after day of November sludge becomes purposeless pain.

A solitary raven perches atop the great chimney, choking on smoke which pours forth. To him these fumes emanate from beneath the very ground, perhaps even the Earth’s overheated core. Little does he know of human industry below – perhaps this ignorance benefits him.

It is always dark and cold nowadays. He has witnessed similar times before, but they never lasted so long. Why do the trees shed their leaves? Why is the grass damp and slippery? Why does sunshine visit so rarely now? Perhaps it has lost interest in its old hobby, preferring to sleep away the long evenings. If so, what will happen when it decides to stop coming entirely? Will everything die? Is everything dying already? And why is it so cold?

Opening beak, he cries to the vacant horizon. No reply is forthcoming. Will he ever find a friend, a lover? A second call, this time more desperate. Still all is quiet. Another quickly follows, haunting in its despair. He takes to the air, hopeful of companionship elsewhere. The sole biological aim of living creatures is prolonged survival, as an individual and a species. Quite a strange goal in many ways, but an eye-opening one. This is its basis: life needs no further justification.