I would not be writing on paper, nor would my publication be printed. There would be no books, magazines, newspapers. We wouldn't recieve letters and the wooden desk used to write the letters would be synthetic.
I wouldn't find trees incredible. I wouldn't be constantly looking at them whilst walking outside, nor would I stare at them, almost in a trance whilst looking out the window of my flat or the window of a bus. I wouldn't be obsessed with how the bare branches in winters silhouettes are so delicate, tangled and elegant. Nor how when the nuts or the buds start to grow, they add even more awe to the silhouette. I am looking up into the sky, separated by this incredible canopy. Trees in winter turning to spring are my favourite. So much drama. Almost portraying an emotional end of a performance. But spring is also another thing. The blossoms-so stunning. There is no way to convey how much I love the delicate petals covering the twigs, and the light layer on the floor. If there were no trees, nor would I shelter from the sun under them, the branches adorned with a mass of leaves.
There would be no natural skyscrapers, nor a visualisation of running commentary of the seasons. Nor would there be a beautiful diversion from the grey buildings in the grey cities.
There would be no structure for tree houses or the building blocks as well as the structure for the birds to create nests to live in. There would be no apples, plums or pears. Or nuts or conkers.
My eyes would no longer be stimulated by the ever changing horizon.
