Where there's hope there's life

The centre of Swindon remains uninspiring, its very blandness seeming to stifle any new growth. The pubs on Fleet Street entice the ASBO crowd to drink in the sun where they can easily shout abuse to passers by. I hurry past on my way home avoiding eye contact by looking skyward.

As I get to the corner a flash of green catches my eye, slowing down I notice a small tree clinging to the wall of the pub – one story up. Its roots dig into the mortar, yet no crack can be seen. The vibrant green leaves undulate in the breeze reminding me of far away places. Flouting the humdrum of Swindon life it reaches for the sunshine, valiantly holding onto its existance and reaching for something more. The tree makes me smile, although it didn’t try to – it has no need of admiration, it has found its niche already.