People in the office are dropping like flies.  They are sniffing.  Some are sneezing.  Others coughing.  They are all victims of the evil seed.

Relentlessly, it invades Bloomsbury.  First, a small patch, caught in the gap between paving stones.  Then, a larger swarm, collecting at the kerbside.  Before long, it is everywhere; a golden tide fanning out across every thoroughfare and roadway.

Nothing can resist it.  It is like a plague upon the fashionable avenues and Georgian squares, transforming the usually tranquil district into a no-go zone, only possible to visit if wearing a full hazmat suit and particle-filtering breathing apparatus.

I am fortunate not to be affected myself.  But, I know that it is only a matter of time.  I am not immune.  I will be caught up with the same sniffing, sneezing, coughing affliction of my colleagues.  And it is the same story every year.  The first hint of warm Spring weather is a signal for the evil seed to appear.

The culprit?

Not a Russian chemical attack; not the resurgence of a Victorian-London epidemic.  It is the humble plane tree.

For two weeks of the year, Bloomsbury’s iconic gentle giants remind us that they are the mighty ones.

© Simon Turner-Tree

Simon Turner-Tree feels a sneeze coming on.