certain trees represent a grand idea, a time where form meant something deeper than mere lines. the brain endorses this in tales and myth, mystery surrounds some trees.
when i was a child i recall wimbledon common, opposite my grandmothers house. the trees came out to the edge of the road and leaned over my bedroom. in those early days the streetlights were gas, and the light itself had a shimmer and aura of uncertainty.
it happened one evening, i couldn't sleep, was not allowed down stairs where the adults were. i looked out from my bed at the strange light shining through the gap in the curtains.
it was softer than normal light, changeable and watery. i peeked at it from the safety of my covers and wondered why it was.
in a tiny body things look different, altered.
i clambered out from the security of my bed and went over to the curtain. outside i could hear a wind howling.
there's inside where all is safe and sound. and outside is another business. every fear awaits, all the dark imaginings of a young mind are beyond that thin screen.
i must have looked. eventually. i must have opened the curtain and seen the big tree.
only the tree was not a tree, it was a face, a huge face, angry and moving wildly in the howling wind, roaring at me, bending right over across the street, leaning towards me, with a mouth of leaves wide open screeching silently, it's big eyes hungry and violent. it swirled and moved backwards and forwards, all the while that big mouth raging in the wind.
i'd never seen an angry tree before, i had never seen one so violent and hostile. it seemed to leap towards me and then rear back.
i was scared, a tiny kid in a dark room, looking at something that was terrifying me and i realised at a young age, some trees are just bad.