Globalism

Globalism The winter after war was not jubilant the snow was slushy like the beginning of spring. A poor street, houses had not been painted not much food and the ice was reluctant to let go of its deadly grip. I saw it along a wall of flaking cement a small solitary, yellow flower the colour so bright it blinded me it was like I had a moment of clarity I understood and saw it all. In the windows of old houses’ on sills flower in pots in tins, humanities need for beauty. I must not forget hasted home find a piece of paper and write it down. But I didn’t get it down on paper my thoughts that were influenced by beautiful minds. So long ago now, it was 1950 and people were friendly we had suffered together and survived. We are not the people of the world we are tribe, however modern, it is our group's survival that counts. Tribalism is much stronger than globalism it can never speak our language.