Grief

Today, close to where I live, men were cutting down trees. Five had already come down, and a dozen more littered the hill that led down to the highway. One remained. Tall and slender, the last one standing became a ‘she’ in the time it took for me to take Fifi to the dog run. On the way home, I saw a man strapped to her with a red rope. He had climbed quickly. I listened to the buzz of his chain saw, watched him bring it down in an arc, heard the sound change as it bit into the wood. She seemed to shiver, the length of her, and the clusters of green alive at the top huddled there, as though they knew. I wanted to walk away, I really did, but stayed. I stayed because it seemed important that I witness her fall, that I flinch at the split and crack and moan as one half of her tore away from the other. I leaned into the fence as she hit the dirt and it seemed she shuddered, long after she might have lain still.

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