“When I am grown up will the air be too poisonous for us to breathe from the pollution?” the nine-year old asked at the dinner table. “My love, the governments are all trying to change their laws to help the planet - everyone is looking for a solution. Don’t worry,” the mother lied, relieved that her answer stopped any further questions.
Later that evening, she took the dried up branch that she had collected from the park down the road. She placed it in the glass jar in the entrance hallway filled with seashells, ocean-ground pebbles and curved driftwood. She took the box with wooden handpainted easter eggs that she had bought in Hungary, and slung them around the tiny side branches of what was becoming their Easter tree that year. Then she carefully placed the plastic neon-coloured fluffy chicks on the mini twigs, creating a rainbow riot. Finally she took out the feathered bird ornaments, positioning them in the highest points, serenely surveying the peculiarly decorated former tree. For the mother, it felt like the only reasonable response. Was it denial, or a form of resistance? She didn’t know.
