Cut The Tree Down
The Tree The big sleek car braked to a stop in front of the gorgeous house. The green trees and shrubbery, the bright iridescent flowers and the neatly trimmed lawns all blended into one harmonious relationship with the low slung roof of the glamourous house with its big gaping windows and wide doors and expertly paved paths. I stayed a mome nt in the car looking at it all with a curious mixture of deep sadness and pride and marvel as the memories welled up in my chest and threatened to spill out of my eyes and nose and mouth. With an effort I got out of the big car, my ancient seventy-nine year old cramped legs trembling with the pins and needles of sitting out the four-hour journey from my own satisfactory little house in the village. My son’s driver, Yosefe, who had come to pick me up, came around with my walking stick to conduct me into the confines of the house as he carried my small beloved battered suitcase. As I crossed the threshold, I prayed against hope that, this time,...