Stump

I wish I'd taken a picture of the Oak tree when it's branches were full and birds rested on it's limbs. For now, all that I have is a picture of it's stump. Shortly after driving or walking through the entrance of my little community, I would see the tree standing proudly, to my right when I was leaving, to my left on my return. I always noticed it. On Monday, I saw chunks of wood in the street in front of it. I saw that it's branches had been butchered. Pruning, I thought, sloppily done. Tusday, as I left to meet my son for lunch in The City, I saw workers around the tree and a truck with the words "Tree Surgeons" painted on it's side. It was clear to me that they were chopping down my tree. I write "my tree" though it was a quarter mile from my property. It was my tree and the tree of all who loved it - or didn't. When I returned about five hours later, the tree was gone and the workers were readying themselves to leave. I paused in sad memory. A worker caught my eye and I raised my hand in friendly acknowledgment. He'd done his job and, as Matt pointed out to me, the tree had probably become a danger to passers by.

I imagine that the wood from the tree will be used. Perhaps it will be processed for ground cover. It will be going through the timeless recycling of material things, in this case aided my Man. The components of that which was my tree will continue on in other forms or energies or even perhaps as consciousness, this last a concept that I intend to explore in future posts. For now I have a sense of loss which I know that I'll release with time. For now I want to honor the tree, value what it was, and be glad that I can hold it in my memory.