This tree in particular was my favorite. It was on my road, only about a half mile from my house. It was strategically positioned at the corner of a fence with an open field behind it. During the spring it used to have one line of leaves that would go from the bottom left corner to the top right corner. The rest was always barren. It was statuesque. Was is the important word in that sentence.
My husband was the one appointed to cut it down, since he cut down trees for a living. He knew I loved this tree, since I'm sure I said it every time we passed it. He liked to taunt me by telling me one day it would have to be cut down. Well, that day came. I get fairly attached to things and don't do well with change. Luckily, he warned me first.
It's unfortunate to have one less beautiful dead tree in the world. Especially one that was so perfect. Now when I drive down my road, there is only a stump. There is an emptiness surrounding the spot where the tree should be. I guess if you love a dying object, you're just setting yourself up for disappointment. I'm sure there's a point to be made here that goes far deeper than my strange affinity for dead trees. Carry the line of thought wherever you like. I just want my tree back.
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