My dreams last night were like a storm, like the big storm when I was little: full of trees falling down. Oaks grinding and crying out in the wind. I woke up feeling like someone I loved had died.
The ancient oaks of Combe Haven valley are being killed this week. I want to be there, I want to stop it, but I am not there. I am at home, looking after two small children.
I want to invoke ancient curses. In my head, I scream at the councillor who has pushed for this road for years. IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU HAD NEVER BEEN BORN. I HATE YOU.
Wear black for Combe Haven.