There was a time when the earth was wild and waste. The land featureless, barren, silent; the ground baked hard by a relentless sun, while vicious winds whipped the seas.
We could have existed then, in hardship, on dismal deserts. Surviving without living. Beauty unknown. But the earth brought forth plants, of a million colours, and the land was formed into moutains and valleys, with snow on the peaks and little rivers flowing down past pleasant meadows to golden beaches of soft sand, and the salty sea.
Why is the grass green or the sky blue, or a sunset such a perfect myriad of reds and yellows? And is there anything more delicate than than a spider's web on a frosty morning?
We are blessed to live in such a paradise and call it home; and if you offered me another option, I would, without hesitation, decline.
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