When your Rare find is worthless to others…
I got a train to work today. When I came to the station, I’ve noticed that there is more space, more sky, more… emptiness. It took me a few seconds to realise that the trees were gone. THE TREES WERE GONE.
Like all of them. All the old, beautiful, picturesque even trees were gone over the weekend. What’s left are bleeding scratchy eye-sore stumps surrounded by temporary fencing.
Yeah, I know. I can’t stand in a way of progress, of major infrastructure projects. Our train line is being re-made into SkyRail (that’s another sore for the community. But it’s a different topic). But… But but but
I loved those trees. Those were LIME-TREES
Coming to Australia I really missed them (I grew up in Riga where streets and parks were lined with them. Where the aroma of their blossoms equaled spring, warmth, school holidays).
I missed limes so much I used to buy all the lime tea I could find and always kept a box in the draw at work, so I could smell it.
Finally, I found lime trees in Australia. I found them around this particular train station. I was happy. I was happy in spring and summer. I was happy in winter and autumn. Just walking past them twice a day on a work day gave me so much pleasure and calm.
Today I found them gone… I know I can find more of them (there are some in the park next to my office). However, it still hurts. It was a rare find for me. It was precious. It was dear and important. It was… just for me. It was not that important to all the other people involved in the project.
I guess all these esoteric wise men are right when they say ‘do not get attached to material things’. I can’t say I was attached to those trees, but there is an aching spot inside of me now that they are gone…