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The Ash, the Oak, and the Elders - A Horticultural Horror - The Tree Tragedy

� �The Oak was old. The tips of her branches were brittle, but her heart was strong.
� �She had seen many trees rise and fall back to earth.
She remembered the horses, pulling everything and everyone around, she saw them left behind by the motorcar.
� � �Her neighbours the Elders were younger and shorter, their sweet white elderflowers hung heavy in the May rain. They had tangled themselves with the barb wire, their gnarled wounds thickened with time.
� � �They were indifferent, though the Oak viewed herself as the queen of the row. She was the tallest, and the widest, and eldest of them all. She believed she would live forever.
� � �The Ash shot up fast and vigorous. He demanded attention. He threw his branches onto the road during the winter storm.
� � �Men came and trimmed him back.
The Oak knew his fate. He would rise and live a long life before he fell under the weight of his decay.
She would remain. She had outlived her neighbours and even her children. For her shadow blocked out the sun.
� � �She did not foresee her own demise, a premature demise.
� � �The men came with a chainsaw and cut her down.
� � �Three hundred years ended for a house that wouldn�t last twenty.
� � �The Ash looked on sniggering.
� � �He was next.
� � �Then the Elders were eviscerated.
� � �The briars were ripped away, along with the ivy, and the cow parsley.
� � �All that remained were stumps and sawdust.
� � �And the plastic lid of a vended cappuccino.