For 40 years a giant loomed over him.  A conflagration of steel and concrete, of rubber , and copper and porcelain.  Exquisite details perched atop industrial majesty. I could stand with my hand on its trunk and be touching every house I had ever lived in. I could stand with my hand on its trunk and be transported to a rainy day in 1990. The air crackled and popped , the surging lifeblood of the nation, fizzing as it made contact with water laden atmosphere. The smell of petrichor hung heavy in the air. He hated the giant as much as I loved it. Fears for health and longevity hung in the back of his mind. We laid him out in his 100th year, dog at foot , family  gathered round . Out front workmen quietly cut the giant down, slowly and methodically, steel and concrete and rubber , copper and porcelain, hauled away to be buried beneath the ground . The giant and my grandfather , together in the ‘whatever comes after’.