I lived in a village where the neighbour had a lemon tree it was on rich soil in the small garden where chicken roamed In January, it was full of perfectly formed fruit, beautiful shining bright with an effervescent hint of green. I wished someone would take the tree to an art gallery as an example of perfection. At an art exhibition, I saw a painting of a lemon by Gunther Grass, it was beautiful looked real in its yellow lushness; he won a Nobel prize, not for the lemon but for his marvellous authorship. Near Ramallah, there was a similar lemon tree greatly admired by the locals, but the settlers came burned down the tree. This is what happens when the brutes rule.