I sit in my garden.

It’s a normal garden, just average.

I have some flowers, some herbs,

But most of all I have this big tree.

It’s a sycamore tree.

Its massive.

It once belonged in a field,

Before the land was butchered into cheap housing estate.

Now it lives in my garden.

It looks quite silly, really.

It’s the bane of many of my neighbours lives.

It’s legally protected apparently, so it can’t be cut down.

The roots make the ground undiggable.

The leaves torment me relentlessly when they fall

The sycamore seeds sprout everywhere.

And the little pink petals seeped in sap stick to everything.

These houses are cheap. They’re built cheap.

They won’t last long. I’ve lived here since it was built.

Already falling apart. Only 14 years in.

But this tree has been there long before.

I don’t know how old it is.

But putting my hand onto its bark,

I am with it.