I look down at the children playing beneath my branches, shaded from the fierce sun by my silky smooth leaves. They look so free and happy. Whereas I stand here, just here. For year after year after year.

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In the distance I see the sea and wonder what it would be like to feel the salty water swirling around my roots. But I have to make do with hard as concrete mud, baked dry in the summer heat. I sigh, filling the air around me with life giving oxygen.

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Don’t get me wrong, I like the summers. My limbs become nurseries for a whole host of birds and I am no longer alone.

 

My sisters standing nearby also fill with life. Squirrels, beetles and bees all become one with the tree in which they live.

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No, I do like the summer. It's certainly preferable to the winter anyway. Who wants to be blown all over the place and frozen half to death when you could instead bask in amber rays?

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But sunbathing gets boring over time. I want to move, to travel, but I’m stuck. It’s not fair. After all I do for the countryside I should at least be able to explore it at will.

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The sun begins to fade and the frolicking children are replaced by a young couple leaning up against my trunk for a romantic sunset picnic. Pork pies, strawberries and elderflower cordial sit neatly in their basket.

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The man wraps his arms around his girlfriend in a loving embrace. His smart striped shirt matching her yellow sundress perfectly. They begin to talk about their day, the queue for the train, the angry customers at the boutique.

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Carrying on, it’s clear they are letting all their emotions out, so they don’t become stored up and stale.

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“It’s good we are able to talk about these things in private - with no one around to hear us.” The girl says. It’s clear she finds these conversations cathartic.

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“Pork pies are a lot cheaper than therapy!” her companion jokes as he repositions his spectacles.

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The topic then shifts to the hillside we are currently sharing. The man says he loves the view towards the bay. The woman agrees and calls it peaceful as her hand runs over the grass beyond their spotty picnic blanket.

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They speak of their love of this place. The openness, the nature and the fresh air. I concur and take a deep breath, filling my leaves with magical carbon dioxide. Apparently they come here often, but I don’t recall seeing them before.

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Suddenly the mood changes and melancholy expressions wash over them. The man looks at the ground, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. A single tear runs down the girl’s cheek.

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“I can’t believe they are going to cut this tree down” she says sadly.