The whole irrational rage instilled instantly by the sight of those sadly denuded, stripped and bare stalks where once a lush young plantlet thrust it's bold head skywards & sang for the sheer joy of life, and the feel of the sun on it's leaves, and the gentle rain cooling & quenching it's roots.
Can I just say 'Argh!!' and 'Garn' and other such similar expressions of impotent wrath.
There'd be a picture but I couldn't bring myself to record such barren wilderness where once majestic brassicas marched horizonward... *sob*
It makes you feel so impotent, doesn't it. I'd like the slugs to die in deep agony, to assuage my anger.
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