A cool, bleak autumn day, not a sound, not a word, not a soul in sight.
But one thing breaks the silence.
The whispering and fluttering of a plastic bag in the breeze.
Dancing on the currents of air, flying over rooftops coming to gentle stop on frosty pavements.
Then it’s up again, gliding, soaring.
A plastic cup skids and rolls down the street.
Joining the bag.
A car skids down the road,
Its fumes and gases choking and destroying the fresh air.
Rubbish, and fumes and plastic,
They are masking the beauty of our world.
Yet all of these things, plastic and rubbish,
Is this what our beautiful world has come to?
Not a soul in sight yet rubbish floating on the crisp autumn gust?
Who has created this?
Who has wreaked havoc on our world?
Us.
Who are the only people who can stop this?
Us.
So that’s what we’re going to do.
