I rise early each morning, turn right out of our gate, and walk to greet the sun as it rises over Mount Macedon. The stretch of road traversed is never busy, even less so at that hour. There are roos and birds, cows and calves who take varying degrees of note at my human presence. I love this ritual: for fuq's sake, I think smugly, my life is so damned clean these days. I find myself collecting rubbish, the evidence of all our dietary scourges laid bare on a country road - iced coffee containers, cans of beer and empty bottles of wine. Who throws a bottle of wine from their car window at 100 km's an hour?
Next door have two gorgeous children, a sweet baby girl and a properly leonine four year old son. Their mother is a scientist and a deep, watery piscean thinker. We spoke briefly the other day, both noting the dryness, the heat. She confessed how terrified she was for her children's future, having falling into a rabbit hole of current climate change research. Without children of my own, I can only imagine what it feels like - an absolutely fuqing terrifying prospect.
It feels ever more urgent that we try to patch this whole mess up as best we can. We gen x-ers like to blame the baby boomers for all of our problems, but my generation must step up to bridge the gap between gen y and our elders. Gen-y will have to take charge of this, it's their awful, inherited future, but we HAVE to help them. I'm rethinking absolutely everything.
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