And roots draw in, inhale the earth.
Goodness, filtered and condensed, flows up towards the sky,
Along arms, through branches,
Penetrating to the tips and gathering as a ball of energy,
Pulsating, fit to burst,
Ready to send out fresh shoots which will unfurl, turn to the sun and then at last release its grip—
But this process is interrupted:
Tree chopped.
Wood pulped, squeezed and stained.
A shiny five euro note, firm and crisp, pushes its way from a cash machine. It changes hands, softens and crumples, pauses for a time on a tabletop.
In a flurry of activity it is gathered atop a mound of papers, its owner’s footsteps cross a room. For a moment they travel together. Then it slides and teeters on the brink and – with a flutter of blue – it falls to the ground.
Footsteps recede and it lies unnoticed, able at last to exhale.