When I leave my house there is a tree out front. It grows through the cement on the footpath and it’s leaves fall on the roof of our car. On windy winter days I can sit in our bedroom and watch its empty branches sway frenetically. Mostly I walk past the tree and don’t think of it at all. On rare occasions that I park the car I am hyperaware of it: I aim for 2 feet or more breathing space between the front wheels and its proud trunk. The same trees line our road approximately 15 feet apart, maybe more maybe less. I barely notice them as I stride, but I often admire the way they soften the street. I take them for granted, but I appreciate their presence. I am familiar with similar streets on similar estates that don’t have this parade of trees and they appear barren to me without the softness of leaves, the swaying branches and the proud trunks.
10 minute freewriting exercise 24/1 2