Av og til dukker det opp unge mennesker som får oss til å lytte. Som setter ord på tanker som løfter oss, eller tanker som får oss til å reflektere over det livet vi lever! De får oss til å tenke over alt vi har, og på det vi kan miste. De setter ord på naturen – slik de sanser og opplever den. De setter ord på det som er fint. Barn og unge ser verden med andre øyne enn oss voksne, de ser verden på nytt for oss dersom vi tar oss tid til å lytte til det de har å si. Det tror jeg vi trenger.
Det spennende ved vårt eget lokalsamfunn er nettopp at det er ungdommer vi kjenner, eller som vet hvem er eller som vi bare har møtt i forbifarten som engasjerer seg for saker de tror på. Det gir grunn til håp – for fremtiden! For aldri har engasjementet for kloden vært større.
Elena Solerød og er en av to skribenter som skriver for oss i LOCUS.
Elena er en ivrig skribent fra Undrumsdal. Hun skriver alt fra korte tekster til fremtidige bøker, og forholder seg mest til engelsk. Hobbyer hun har ved siden av er cosplay og gaming, også maler hun mye med både akvarell og akryl.
Så finn frem en god kopp kaffe og ta deg tid til å lese den vakre teksten hun har skrevet.
The Sound of the Waves
I can hear the waves from the ocean. I can hear the leaves on the trees around me rattle in the breeze. I can hear the birds chirping in the distance. Some distant thunder rolling across the sky, as the lightning lights up the sky. I pull of my headphones and open my eyes.
I can’t see it. I can’t see the ocean. I can’t see the trees, or the birds, or the lightning. I look out of my window, only to find myself locked in a concrete maze. The sky is so red, and the fog so thick, I can’t even see the sun. Dust and ash fills my lungs, as I close my bedroom window.
I sit down with my grandparents every evening. I tell them about the present and they tell me about the past. When they were young, the world was healthy. The grass was green, and the sky was blue. I can’t even imagine it. They told me about cats, and dogs, and the birds. They told me about the butterflies and bees, and they told me about the little creature defying gravity; the bumblebee. She would have been my favorite. They’re all extinct now.
My grandparents look up at the red sky, with a look of sadness draped across their faces. They miss the old world, I can tell. They miss seeing their flowerbeds fill with bees. Where tall rosebushes stood proudly, leaning on the house walls. Their red petals creating a romantic exterior of the family home. With small wildflowers growing free, where butterflies and bumblebees found their pit stop on their journey to save the planet.
I draped a bandana across my mouth as the wind outside picked up. A sandstorm washed over New York, and the windows of the tall apartment complex started to shatter. My grandparents found shelter in the basement, as the city filled with sand. The scorching sun gloomed through thick layers of red fog. Ash started to fall from the sky; yet another building caught fire.
The flames died out through the night, and yet more lives lost to natures’ powers. Mother Earth have had enough. She’s punishing us for the mistakes our past generations have made. I can barely breathe. I didn’t ask for this life. I didn’t ask to be born out of ash and smoke, into a world set ablaze by Mother Earth herself. She’s willing to sacrifice herself, if that means saving the planet. Is that fair? Leaving everything to her? Shouldn’t we help, when we can?
