The wattle trees in our garden are abundant. In my dream I decide to find secateurs to cut off a few branches to put in vases. I resist the impulse to borrow my daughter’s sewing scissors for fear of blunting them. When I come up close the flowers do not seem as abundant as I had first thought but still I manage to snap off a few twigs. The flowers drop off as the twigs fall and cover me in yellow pollen.
I go inside to find vases just as my husband arrives home. The wind builds up and we go out together to check the trees, which have now disappeared. At first I imagine the wind has toppled them but soon realise someone must have chopped them down. Their stunted trucks look tiny compared to how I had at first imagined them. I am relieved that my cuts did not cause them to disappear when the alarm wakes me up.