In the interest of electrical safety, some trees had to be cut down. Luckily, not the one above as it is out of the way of the lines. I simply watched as a man scrambled up a tree with a machete and single-handedly, branch by branch, slayed it within minutes. It felt like witnessing a murder I had paid for. I wonder which one of these is more painful for a tree – to be hacked down bit by bit or to be neatly slit across the trunk with a chain-saw.
His bench is where I go to say hello and good-bye and I love you, even though he’s with me always. One late September afternoon, a day before leaving London last year, I drove to where the bench is, in Dulwich College. I parked in front of the Great Hall. As I stepped out of the driver’s seat, something twinkled on the tarmac. I looked down and just by the rear wheel on my side of the car lay a black friendship-band with a silver heart. Just the kind of casual thing he would get for me. I picked it up and looked around. The car park was deserted. No claimants. I slipped it on my right wrist, convinced this gift was left at that particular spot, specifically for me. I wonder if that’s true or plain silly.
Coral, peach, rose, bubblegum, flamingo, ballet-slipper, salmon, rouge, punch – all shades of pink.
Does every possible colour in the sky have a name? What is the lingering sunlight called? Are these names absolute or are they mere approximations? Do they do justice? Do we need to name every colour or can we leave some alone? Is there a colour of love? Wonder what its name is.
kidsaregifts 