A tree ignored

The final stop of the E bus from Corsier Port into the city is Rive where the E, G, 1 and 33 buses and the number 12, 16, 17 and 27 trolleys exchange passengers.

The TPG sells monthly/yearly bus tickets in a squat building. In winter a man puts up a hot chestnut stand facing the TPG store. His wares warm my hands while waiting for the E.

A Starbucks is on one corner and "real" cafés are on the opposite side of the circle with its complicated traffic patterns.

The Halle, a long building running through to a neighbouring street, has stalls where fishmongers, butchers, green grocers and caterers sell their wares, four aisles of culinary delights, a Swiss food souk.

In the midst of this city life, sheltering the TPG building, is a single tree with a gnarled base reminding me of the Chinese lion statues or even a bit of my old Japanese chins who also reminded me of the Chinese lion statues.

The tree, the bark, the sidewalk all have so many textures just like the lives of those that walk or drive by it without ever stopping to look at it. There is an ugliness bordering on beauty, another dichotomy in our lives filled with dichotomies.