Morning has broken

It was a perfect Midsummer’s dawn, and for a moment, for a last heart-aching moment, the world was at peace.
Or so it seemed.

Nature has its way of presenting itself and its host, the Earth, in a variety of ways. But if one could scratch under the surface of the peace of a perfect dawn, at Midsummer or indeed any other time of the year, one might find that that perfection might be miles, kilometres, or merely inches deep. One might… but might also find and that underneath that perfect crusty shell there boiled a cauldron of imperfection…