Last night I dreamt of the Norfolk pine that once greeted me daily from our neighbour’s yard. She reminded me of an aristocratic lady, of God’s beauty, a Work of Art.  She comforted me when I was stressed, greeting me with a branch dance. The day I heard the chainsaw at work, I wept. Our neighbour is a coward, her temper often on display. This was a sudden death of something she did not treasure. There was no warning, no final goodbye, just a nothingness of lemon trees and concrete. A  photographed memory of the lady sits on my desk.