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Cold cold cold

The gardeners came and cleared out most of the front garden. I made them leave the two rowans and the elder, though they chopped the latter right down - not so far she can't bud this Spring, but just far enough to look very stark and sorry.It is not a cheery sight.

The result is that we have much more space than we realised. But the whole thing has left me shivery and ill. Even with the knowlege that we can put in new growth and that  there is far more light, it looks barren and sad to me.

I had an unexpected memory moment of PTSD this morning so perhaps this has coloured my reactions. This  is an odd trigger because it has little to do with the events; it is something about temperature switch.  Directly after the event I just wanted to go somewhere cold, preferably mountainous;  The specialist said it was about numbing my feelings. That's very clever, but I don't know if it is true. But it remains strange to me that the temperature level I wanted then is a trigger now, it just makes no sense. Still, whatever the sense, I felt  that particular taint of old this morning, and I felt it again today when I saw the remains of the garden.

Cutting down trees is an act of death.  I hate it.

Sometimes you have to, or nothing else in the garden can thrive.  I get that, but I still hate it. And I am so cold, so shivery I must stop writing, but not before I have forced something pleasant out of this.

I am going to this tonight: http://www.chambersofflavour.co.uk/ Nothing like an edible adventure!

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