About a month ago, the land lady emailed us to let us know she would be hiring an arborist to do some “tree work” on the property. I didn’t think much of it; I knew we had some overgrown bushes and a tree on the side of the house that was growing dangerously close to the foundation. But when I got home from work on the day the arborist came, I found they’d taken down the lovely, sprawling, flowering tree that had lived in the center of our yard. I was devastated; in fact, I cried. And I didn’t feel like spending time in the back yard being constantly reminded of what used to be.
Over the years, I’d made a habit of observing the way the light shone through its leaves and branches every time I walked to and from my car, and for days after it was gone, I kept glancing over expecting to see something beautiful, instead seeing only a scattering of orange dirt. One can grow quite attached to something and not realize how important it was until it’s gone.
RIP, tree. You were my second favorite tree in the world.