Climate Collapse: When the butterflies have gone
- Alistair Appleton
- Sep 17, 2019
- 6 min read
It’s September and my garden, dishevelled as it is, is looking beautiful. There are super-ripe figs hanging on the figtree, too high for me to pick, which are attracting a freakishly large number of red admiral butterflies. The sun is mild but bright. The lawn is dappled by the leaves of the thinning ash tree and the sun bright-foliage. It’s one of my favorite times of the year.
But there’s a undertow.
How to enjoy all this when I also know that in my lifetime the red admiral butterflies will probably stop existing? That the sun will get hotter and hotter and my lawn will run dry with no rain? That the strong likelihood is that the social safety of this country and every country on the planet will be increasingly stretched and buckled and broken by the impact of the climate catastrophe?
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