If you see this, post a bird #artpost #birds

But now there’s space for family there, and mostly I’m not allergic to them. I can imagine the mango tree towering above and that’s enough.

But rest assured, dear reader! The mango tree was not chopped down because of vanity!

It was a direct result of the housing crisis and my brother making sure there’d always be space for family.

So I miss the tree because it was pretty fucking bountiful despite the fruit bats and possums.

That’s the one I feel the loss of. The one my brother built a folly under and where we celebrated Father’s Day and Christmas beneath.

That’s when I finally realised what my horrible swelling was caused by. I didn’t curse the tree, I cursed my inability to co-exist with the tree.

I miss the tree.

Before I discovered I liked the taste of mango, the tree had always been a place of sweeping branches and shade. My Grandma had to cut down the majestic one of my early childhood because its roots kept invading the sewerage pipe. But there was another one in the backyard.

The result was angioedema, which made school drop offs and pickups mortifying but apparently nobody noticed so apparently I just look like that.

I became scared of mangoes! I’ll eat them if I don’t have to pick or prepare them because I love them with all of my heart.

I miss the mango tree.

This also goes to show how woefully underrated and under seen the movie ‘Swinging Safari’ is!

Well done, you (and her)!