tree down

This morning, I watched a big old tree collapse. Even as a tree-hugger, I had found it quite unlovely. It's now a stark diagonal against a world coated in horizontal white.

I happened to be standing at my attic window, watching birds at the feeder, when behind them there was sudden movement. I could barely register what was happening before the alianthus tree - a huge Seussian weed, the bane of urban environments, constantly littering the neighborhood with its innumerable offspring - had plummeted down. It fell neatly into the crotch of another tree, the most convenient thing it did in its long life, sparing our fence, clothesline, compost box, and garden beds, the neighbor's garage, another neighbor's fence, and the yard of the people it technically belongs to.

After the first moment of awed horror at watching it fall, I felt lucky three times over: that it was gone, that it did little damage in its fall, and that I got to witness it.

It is not a perfect metaphor for this year of my life, but it'll do.