It’s a little after dawn on an early-October morning as the cat and I sit on the front porch watching nature lose its lustre. The large tree that stands in front of my dining room palladian window has begun to lose its leaves. The hickory nuts drop to the ground with a thud, but the leaves dance their way down. I’ve watched this tree turn with the seasons over the past eight years.
In the fall season, the tree’s brightly-colored glory has brought mystery to mind. During the winters, its bare branches have sent chills through my bones. When springs have rolled around, new buds popping up and littering the branches has brought me hope. When summers have settled in, the tree’s leaves have filled out into a wide shade, offering respite. There’s hasn’t been a season roll around when that tree hasn’t meant something important to me.
I’ve sat at my dining room table and stared into the tree while birds flitted between branches. As I write, a few birds are balanced on branches, singing melodies I long to imitate. Even the cat is mesmerized by a red bird that is determined to make its presence known (although I’m sure the cat’s intentions for watching the bird are far different from mine). That tree has been my source of writing inspiration more times than I can count.
There have been many nights when I needed a few moments of silence I would slip out onto the front porch and look up into that tree’s branches. A little light is positioned beneath it so that its limbs and leaves look like something out of a storybook. It’s held a bit of solace and magic for me over the years.
But I’ve decided it’s time to let it go.
My husband has wanted to cut down that tree for years, claiming it’s a hazard to our home. A couple of months ago, a strong storm passed through, and the wind whipped the top branch with such fury that it snapped. It’s been hanging since like a limp, broken arm, while its leaves turned dark brown. I conceded that another strong storm’s winds might send the entire tree crashing into our dining room. My husband is thrilled at the prospect of using a chainsaw and sending the tree tumbling. But I’m a little somber over the whole issue. It’s like losing a good friend, and heaven knows, I’ve lost a lot of those in my lifetime.
This is most likely the last fall, Saturday morning I’ll sit on the brick steps and gaze up into that old tree. This is likely the last time I’ll spend some quiet moments allowing it to inspire me. Maybe it’s somewhat ridiculous to mourn that old tree, but isn’t it appropriate to mourn and grieve over the passing of good things in our lives?
