Unless we find the words to discuss the beauty of our landscape, it will be desecrated by lines of great waving semaphores
You can smash a building, bomb a city, impoverish a nation and the world grants you a hearing. But break the twig of a British tree and hobgoblins will descend and destroy you. Thank goodness for that.
Britain this autumn is ablaze. The year's eccentric climate has given us dying leaves of unprecedented splendour. Researching a book on English landscape, I travelled last week through the Midlands to the Peak District and the Yorkshire Dales. The golden beechwoods of the Chilterns gave way to the yellows and oranges of Cannock Chase, the purples of the Peak District and the ambers of the Calder, the Aire and the southern dales. England was never so beautiful. If the coalition is now presiding over the last rites of the open English countryside, it has at least granted it the loveliest of funerals.
See full Article: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/nov/01/wind-turbine-debate
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