Forest, Wanted…

The next day, I opened up my window – which looks out onto a back street in central Leicester – only to find a sea of foliage, stretching all the way up from Lower Oxford Street and into, well – the hills – where previously, there had been only a 24 hour Tescos and a football themed, cut price boozer. As I was in the process of opening the window, a branch, was apparently also in the process of attempting to knock on the glass. The branch had a piece of A4 white paper skewered on it’s point. The paper had my job advert written across it’s lines in sap green pen. The tree was simutaneously attempting to waft the sap scrawled advert in what can only be described as a comely fashion – something for which the Sycamore specious are not naturally famed for, supporting as they do only a handful of UK invertibrates, and so generally disparaged by the ecological community. Such predjudice is often liable to adversely affect one’s character, leading to bitterness and alienation. The Sycamore before me however, seemed perfectly personable. In fact, in it’s wafting of paper I detected a kind of deliberate and good natured fanning, a nod to the paintings of pre-Raphaelite mythology I was known to like and in general a clear sign of dedication. Behind the Sycamore, two Oaks were waiting it out patiently. It was hard to tell whether they were with the Sycamore, or candidates in their own right – and I didn’t like to ask for fear of offending. Instead, I quietly closed the window and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea – the doing of which I have found, in most circumstance, to be of use. Outside, the trees rustled.