Under the optimistic title 'Brighter days ahead', I put this photograph on Instagram yesterday morning. It shows the rising sun shining through a wild old plum tree twixt our garden and next-door's. For each of the seven years we've lived here, the tree's early blossom has heralded the arrival of Spring and, already, its newly-forming buds have given its branches a happy red tint on a grey February morning. In March, as if by magic, its gorgeous pink flowers positively tingle with the sound of thousands of bees enjoying a welcome snack. I've planted Giant Snowdrops by its foot, its shade providing the perfect environment for them to flourish and, in summer, twittering sparrows flit noisily between its branches and the eaves of our house ..
Yesterday afternoon our neighbour chopped down the tree.
"It's dead," he said, over the roar of his chain-saw. (He's still hacking at the tree's murdered limbs as I write.) "It'll fall and cause damage." I wish it had fallen on him. (Alright, I know it was his to do with what he wanted, but allow me my five minutes of fury!)
Goodbye, dear tree. We'll miss you ..
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