Lime Trees

Summers consist of peridot mornings, and emerald afternoons. The trees filter the sunlight - so often saving me from those headaches, which might have mutated, evolved into migraines. By autumn, the leaves have changed colour: a poet's palette of amber, copper, gold, and red. In winter, the trees are slender, with a stark, grey-brown beauty: looking fragile, yet able to endure the harsh frosts of the season. And, throughout the seasons, "they" plot. They want a concrete Universe - so they mark out their potential victims, with orange spots. The letters to local residents are headed: "Implementation of Environmental Improvements". Yet, trees can bleed. Scenes of carnage seal the deal. They win; we lose. So much wildlife, instantly evicted. Fluorescent yellow workmen circle tree stumps, inspecting their day's work - before going for "a pint", and home for tea. Spring is cancelled.