I am down at BMG for the first time in ages. The endless rain has gone, and morning light has been restored. Magpies’ song lifts my spirit so.
One of the trees that was part of the intimate community that framed my celebration of morning light has fallen. The soil has been so saturated its roots no longer had solid purchase. It has gently, and extremely, leaned northward.
Its life would, I imagine, continue. But the Council has put an ominous cordon of red and white tape across the mown parkland side. The tape also has the word “DANGER” in black repeatedly stenciled on it. There may be peril to small unaccompanied children and blind folk, but I am still in two minds about the declaration of hazard. Only a tiny portion of the base of the tree may constitute a risk – and that could be managed.
The tree could live out its span with this modest leaning disability, but I fear it will be euthanased with a chainsaw in the name of public safety, and an unconscious aesthetic bias against leaning trees.
I have a moment of luminous silence, whose spell is finally broken by a magpie’s song – a last post. The day must go on – and so must I.