For three days, the branches were cut, the sawing was incessant. Finally, all that was left was the stump, which was pulled and ground into the woodchippers, too.
The tree had been in front of the house on Radcliffe Street, since we had moved here in 1994. The tree had probably been here long before that. It had never been trimmed.
It was with sadness as I watched the big, beautiful branches taken down. I’m sure the neighbors had to deal with roots and leaves and the early morning shade, but the death of anything is sad.
I thought of Joyce Kilmer’s poem “Trees” and felt despondent.
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Even as more and more people build lot line to lot line, I wonder if they realize their health and the health of the Earth depends on plants and trees.