Reflections of an Oak Stump

When the Red House was first built, I and my oak tree friends towered over it.

Parched of thirst from the long drought and roots pummeled by machines, I grew ill with hypoxylon canker and was cut down.

Only part of me remains among the garden, a seat of remembrance.

The garden fairies look after me

and call me home.

If you look closely, in the early morning light, you might catch a glimpse of a wee garden fairy peering out of its front door.