The Blue Fir by Joe Allen
The Blue Fir stands alone and errect, mostly unnoticed, it is flanked on one side by a row of uniform mundane houses, and on the other by the main road bringing the traffic into town, and by the railway tracks, that curve their way towards the station.
No one knows how long it has been here, but it has heard the thoughts of all the people who ever lived here. It has watched the old men smoking on their balconies, and it has noticed when they didn’t, and of the walls being cleared of window boxes, and the sweeping of the floor, and the lowering of the shutters, and been moved by the silence. It has watched children held up in their fathers arms, and proudly shown to neighbours and it has watched their mothers shake them by one arm until afraid and perplexed they burst into tears, and it wondered why they became mothers at all.