Blessings to a Maple

I'm listening now to the sound of a chain saw ripping through a tree.  The tree in front of the house my parents built when they were first married.  The house I lived in for my first 9 years.  This maple tree - now at least 70 years old and visibly aging- was special to my mother.  Even in her last days she would lead me to the window to look at that tree, its trunk twisted and gnarled, and tell me about choosing it at the nursery.  "You don't want that tree!  Why would you want that tree?" the arborist asked.  "Look at the trunk.  It is twisted.  This tree here has a nice straight trunk."  

And that is what my mother wanted.  A tree with character.

Farewell dear tree.  If there is a rainbow bridge for flora, I am sure that Margie is waiting for you there to let you know that you were special and chosen... to once again picnic under your canopy.

Wood Street Maple, 2026:  There is nothing special about this photograph.  I just snapped something quickly feeling a bit embarrassed about taking a photograph, tears in my eyes, of a neighbor's tree being removed.