One fine spring morning we planted the biodegradable cylinder containing a mix of my father’s ashes, an organic nutrient and the precious seeds. Sentimental claptrap… or a tacit tree-hugger conspiracy? Who knew?
Throughout the ceremony the family sobbed uncontrollably, casting speculative or accusatory glances at me, whilst I stood apart, dry-eyed.
I’d been his favourite; they all knew that.
Only my mother knew why.
Today the ash tree stands forty feet tall, towering over me, boughs reaching out for me. Even now.
And I must acknowledge the truth.
There’s no way it should have grown this fast in just twelve months.