Green day

There was a ceremony when the last tree was uprooted. Shiny blue pennants fluttered in the summer breeze as the Mayor made a great show of tipping concrete into the earthy crater out of which ghostly white roots still poked.

"Now the whole town is clean and orderly," he said, "And we need never sweep leaves from the streets again."

Autumn arrived, and the evenings stretched further into the afternoons until it was winter, but no leaves lay crisp on the streets, and the Mayor was pleased. Winter's hoar-frost fingers chilled the grey streets and eventually melted into spring.

One day, as he was walking after breakfast, the Mayor noticed cracks appearing in the concrete outside the Town Hall. He stooped down to see green shoots poking up through the concrete carpet.

"Oh, no no no," he said, "This will not do. If flowers grow they will attract wasps."

So he called for the lorries to tip another layer on top of the cracked concrete.

Summer came and the wasp-free air shimmered above the baking concrete, and the mayor was pleased. Summer gave way to autumn, autumn conceded to winter, then once more spring arrived. Walking out after breakfast, the Mayor noticed cracks appearing in the concrete outside the Town Hall. He stooped down to see green shoots poking up through the concrete carpet.

"Oh dear me, no," he said, "Flowers and grasses will give people hayfever."

So he called for the lorries to tip another layer on top of the cracked concrete.

Every spring was the same until eventually a committee of residents arrived at the door of the Town Hall.

"Mayor," they said, "You've added so many layers of concrete that the ground has risen to the level that we can't open our doors."

"Oh my," said the Mayor, "This is a most unforeseen problem. Well, we can't take the concrete away, and of course we can't live our lives choked by plants, so our only option really is to build a new town elsewhere."

So the residents took their belongings and moved to a new site speckled with trees and nestled between verdant hills.
"It's not perfect," said the Mayor when they arrived, "And it'll take time, but eventually we'll build the town we want once more, right here."

A year later the first houses were finished, and the first roads to link them. The people suffered from hayfever and wasps in the summer and the streets were clogged with dead leaves in the autumn, but the Mayor assured them that in time these problems would be solved.

One day the Mayor returned to the old town. Down the middle of the main street ran a long, deep vein, a crack in the asphalt out of which sprouted an abundance of green shoots. He looked upon this and shook his head.

"In time this will all be fields again," he said, "Such a shame."