Tower

Deborah Swain
ISSUE 2006-1
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Tower Encapsulated on my windscreen in one solitary droplet of rain I see better its stark mass: a block of tufa the colour of its distant lands. Its sentinels, young pretenders, a row of thirteen mondel pines. Evergreens - all gaudy verdant dazzle, yet vulnerable, temporary almost, yielding to the wind, each frond dancing its own dance, every needle vibrating in hysterical, unique abandon. Seed cones bob erratically up & down, like heads on chestnut mares - nervous, expectant, ready for a race, ready for battle. I get out of the car to lay a hand on the lichen covered bark of the other, wiser trees. Pensioned guardians, ivy covered oaks, modest in their winter nakedness. I drive back down same the road ignoring the one-way-only sign.