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.