When they lopped the tree, not a branch nor a leaf remained – just the trunk, like an exposed nerve that had been brutally hacked off. It looked how I felt
On the east side of my apartment block is a large fig tree. In its halcyon days, its canopy stretched the length of the balcony, providing shade from the morning sun. From the base of the trunk, an extensive buttress root system had pushed up and cracked the concrete driveway. This made the fig unpopular with the body corporate, but it is a protected species in Brisbane under the Natural Assets Local Law of 2003.
For a long time, that law protected the fig, and much else besides. Every spring, the fruit of the tree provided food for mobs of grey-headed and black flying foxes that chattered and bickered among themselves all night as they gorged themselves. Brush-tailed possums ran riot. During the day, orioles and koels were regular visitors. The koels would shriek their heads off at 4am almost every morning through October and November.
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