Falling (Death of A Tree)

For 56 years, she stood in the backyard providing shade in the summer for the deck and shelter in the winter for generations of squirrels. Though gnarled and bent and losing a few fingers each year, she had continued to stretch her arms toward the sky.

Yet in the end she became hard of heart and could not withstand change. Lulled into complacency by the warm December temperatures, she did not think she would have to store her sap back down in the ground. Nine days in a row with temperatures well below zero came as quite a shock.

Her sap froze within her, breaking her very heart. The split was fatal per the tree doctor. "Choose to lose the tree or the garage she is leaning over," he said. After a moment of sad reflection, I realized that I didn't really have a choice.

Four different surgeons were called to evaluate the situation. They all agreed; the case was terminal. I chose the quickest and most efficient surgeon to put her down. Within a week of diagnosis he arrived to begin the morbid procedure.

With skill he began to amputate fingers and then whole arms. I watched as the sky started to open up, letting the bright sun shine on ground that had not been fully kissed by its rays in many years.

He then proceeded to dissect her body in deliberate and efficient cuts. It was almost over now.

With each slice, parts fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The white snow turned brown with her dust.

In the end, 56 years of organized growth and effort to reach the sky were reduced to dust.

Now my yard feels strangely naked and exposed. The squirrels have moved on to their alternate nest. The birds remain hesitant to visit my feeder.

While my tree's final remains wait to be hauled away, I'm already thinking about finding a younger more resilient replacement for her. But I will have to wait a little while longer until spring. Until then I'm not quite through mourning my loss.