The Banolo Tree

I've planted a Banolo tree in my back garden. Made of iron, its branches clang against its trunk in the wind.

I want to make pipes from the branches - new guttering. Shave off the bark and make a thousand tiny magnets and whack 'em on the fridge. Maybe grate them into iron filings, sprinkle bits around the place, then attract them all together so I can spell out my name.

I'm going to carve out a chunk of the trunk and make myself a bath, hear the shimmer of the water on the bottom of the tub.

The leaves of the tree bleed molten metal - I'll put them in a salad and drizzle them with oil.

I want my life to sprout out of the Banolo tree - it'll feed everything I do. I'll be connected, at last, to nature - my life will be linked in.