Letter in hand,
the twins stood sheepishly
at my front door.
“This is for you…
we are so very sad and sorry.”
I have known the girls
since they were small.
First, as playmates
for my two frisky pups.
Lately, as thoughtful
middle schoolers.
The two scurried back across the street
leaving me lost, confused.
Opening the creamy envelope
I found a single spaced,
one page letter.
“Dear neighbors,
it is with a heavy heart
we must inform you…”
My breath caught in my throat.
“The beloved oak tree
in our front yard
is dying.”
“We have consulted
multiple arborists…
there is no saving the tree.
Development, weather and age
have taken a toll.
The spirit of the tree
will live on in our memory,
but after next Tuesday,
the tree itself will no longer stand.”
“With the help of our three young daughters,
we are selecting a new oak
to occupy the space.
But,
nothing can replace this giant.”
“As a sapling,
she witnessed
the aftermath of civil war.
She stood tall as houses
began to dot the landscape.
She watched two new centuries commence.”
“We wanted everyone
to hear the news
before seeing the empty space.
Sincerely…”
Our street
is empty
without broad limbs
sheltering us,
as we trudge on hot days
or dash
in a sudden downpour.
I am surprised
how often
I notice the absence,
the void.
Yet,
I am as sure as sure can be —
we are the lucky ones
for having lived
in this magnificent oak’s universe.
*memory unearthed thanks to reading Amy Juengst’s wonderful post First Degree
A Reading Life 
When an icon in your neighborhood is gone, it certainly changes the look and feel of your street. Your post captures the depth of feeling that you all felt. In fact, I am missing your tree as well.
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Wow! I love trees and this is such a tribute. What a clever, honorable way for neighbors to share the news.
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Beth,
It is so hard to watch a tree die. I still worry about the giant banyan tree on Maui, and we had a huge oak tree in our front yard when I was a kid, so I feel this loss, the bareness of the street. Trees form communities and communicate with other trees, so I’m thinking about the grief the other trees must feel now.
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As I read this slice, I was thinking of Amy’s post. Sharing the note drew me in to that tree’s history. And now published in your slice, that piece of history can live on.
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Losing a tree is a so sad. We lost one several years ago that carried many memories. It still makes me sad to think about it. And our neighbors lost one in their backyard recently that offered us beauty and privacy as well and I was/am so sad about that too. Sorry you’re neighborhood lost such a long standing member.
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I loved this slice so much that I read it aloud to my husband. He liked it, too. I love how the tree is a character in the story, and definitely understand how a tree’s presence and absence can both be felt deeply.
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