It is early morning and mist cloaks the valley. I alone am awake, keeping a watch on this world still shrouded in its wet cold blanket. Then the cock crows and the world springs to life. Doors are flung open and porches swept, and all too soon the sun is warming my limbs while the children set off on their long walk t

I am no longer alone. Clusters of children loiter, waiting for their friends, before all heading off together. Women with baskets on their heads, stop for a break and a gossip, before taking the long road again. I am the gatherer of people.

Noon arrives, and with it an old man, shuffling slowly, with purpose and determination. My friend of many years takes off his jacket, neatly folds it, and sits quietly. I am his shade.

In the shimmering heat haze of the dust road, a small boy emerges, his face wet with tears. From the sun, from life, from desperation, I am his shelter.

My old friend and I offer him the fruits of wisdom and solace and in exchange taste the sweetness of respect and companionship. The boy brightens under this encouragement; we greybeards are energised by our interaction with the youngster. I am their meeting place.

As the day fades, the men arrive with news of the wider world and stories of the day. Before sending the children off to bed, they recount again the myths and legends of earlier times - an entire community sharing food and drink, teaching of yesterday, dreaming of tomorrow. The wise owl sits in my branches, watching all. I am the Big Tree.