Vanessza’s (17) entry

“The rainbow is too colorful for this sky.”

I pick up the blanket, put on my hat, and have my feet running toward the kindergarten. I’m going to pick up Panka. After the kindergarten, our path always leads to the nearby forest. We watch the clouds, listen to the birds, daydream and laugh. This is no different now, even though I am trying to convince her that it is better to watch the storm from behind the window, she is already pulling me towards the path that leads to our secret haunt. On the way, the clouds are rolling over our heads, but that doesn’t stop Panka, her excitement keeps growing.We are almost there when the rain starts to pour from the sky just like the truth from Panka’s mouth.

– Father! You know why I wanted to come with you at all cost?

– Well, out with it!

– I’ve never seen a rainbow…

Her eyes burn with desire, which fills me with enthusiasm as well. My daughter must see that miracle built on the sky. So, singing, jumping in the puddles, we continue towards the glittering bridge. She is filled with joy, and I just keep admiring her small stature, which holds so much goodness and love. If she gets tired, she asks me between two songs to sing to her and jump into deeper and deeper puddles, because if my little princess doesn’t chirp, she’s sure to give her angelic laugh, which is worth more to me than anything.

Our laughter is suddenly interrupted by deafening noise. Panka looks at me in a frightened way, only to get my hopeless look in response. I already know what it is, but I won’t say it because there is no word for it. So now quietly, but we take the last few steps towards the answer of all the questions of the last few minutes. The beautiful forest where we had so much joy is now in ruins. Soft ash pops out of the saw. Fallen trees and people everywhere, who are working unceasingly, extinguishing the animating forest without blinking an eye.

My heart clenches as I look at Panka’s frustrated face. I am rooted in the ground for a moment, just like the old oak trees were beside us, the leaves of which are no longer touched by the wind. The pieces of my heart are on the branches, and the thoughts which are now thriving towards the pieces of wood lying on the ground are even deeper than the roots. Distressing anxiety awakens in me. Will my Panka still see what was one of the most natural things to me as a child? Can I absorb the golden rays of the sun with my grandchild? Will their faces be caressed by the spring breeze as well?

The sounds of the tools fade. Panka’s cry is so heartbreaking that it would pierce even the darkest soul. I hug her shaking body, but there is no touch that could make her forget the sight of the trees lying on the ground and that of the squeaking saws. She looks at me with her eyes full of tears and asks me: Why?!

Thoughts chase each other in my head like lightning in a stormy night, and the aching heart always answers with a thunder. The many sights that left an eternal imprint in my memory come to life. Sewage floating in the river, replacing fish. The filter empire that unfolds to me as an island. The smoke covering us like fog. The suffering animals. The polar bears losing their home. The victims of the flames. People, animals, lives, fates.

My contemplation is interrupted by another screaming noise, and I wipe the pain of my soul from my eyes. I swallow hard, look at Panka and simply say:

– The rainbow is too colorful for this sky…

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