Lights
England felt the strength of his people. If he was to describe it visually, it would be as balls of light. Each one a person, which flickered and altered and changed, and, far too soon, faded away.
Since the advent of aeroplanes and easier travel the lights flowed, somewhat akin to the ebb and flow of the tide - constant and unstoppable; an endless stream of people entering and leaving the country. He could still sense people who weren't on his land, but the feeling was odd, like an itch on a limb that wasn't there.
He believed he had greater conscience of his people than most due to his affinity with magic, but such awareness was also a pain: war. England saw so, so many bright, young lights, snuffed out so, so suddenly, like a candle flame caught in a gust of wind; yet he, too, was expected to fight in these wars - endless wars - and each time he fought when he would rather curl up and weep from the physical pain and the sorrow - overwhelming, deep, unfathomable sorrow of a thousand, a million, lights snuffed out for no reason - petty arguments, expansion, beliefs. And each time, he told himself never again. And each time, he argued over something trivial, he became greedy, his beliefs were true and just. So he wept, and felt remorse.
Possibly worse than war was plague, famine: twice had his land been struck with epidemic, many more times with purges of lesser magnitude and renown: suffering of all, lights dimming and going out one after another... 1, 2, 3, 4000, 5000 6000... And a quarter, half, more, of his population gone, just like that, as if they'd never been.
But even though his beautiful lights were so fragile, and so brief, so ephemeral, they were always replaced by more new lights, flickering into existence every second - tiny and shining and hopeful.
And if he closed his eyes, England felt that he could see them: old, pale glimmers fading away, new, bright sparks replacing them, and the ever-changing, ever-moving brightness of everything in between - like a huge dark sky full of millions of stars. A night sky of the lives of his people.
It's very short but I hope you enjoyed this pointless little story anyway!