Death of a Tree

At the edge of a large bay stood a very large and stately oak tree.  It was near dusk and the only sounds that could be heard were an occasional chatter of a pair of squirrels, the plop of acorns and splash of mullet near the water’s edge.

Under the tree a very old man nearly naked but for a breechclout, headband and light blanket squatted and watched his grandson standing as still and proud as the tree beneath which the old man sat.  “Asini” was how he was called and at thirteen, stood as still as the tree beneath which his grandfather sat.

He stood at the water’s edge with one foot forward in the water his eyes intent for the silver flash of fish. Over his shoulder he held a straight branch from the old oak tipped with a carefully chipped stone fashioned especially as the old man had wanted for fishing.  Finally, almost without effort the muscle and sinew of the young boy flashed and a silver fish leapt and thrashed in his struggle to stay in the circle of life.  With a deft toss the boy flipped the fish toward his father’s father with a wide grin.

All of that was nearly 300 years ago. Today a flash of metal, much like the flash of the spear bit into the life blood of “Tree” and soon the roaring and crashing and jibes and curses ceased.  They loaded the body of Tree on a long bed truck and drove away.  Adjacent to the spot where once the tree had stood, was a house that the tree had also provided much shade and joy, as well as homes for a myriad of other creatures…  creatures now without a home or source of food or shelter.

I suppose that is the way of the world and perhaps must be…… but is it not sad?

I weep.

J Leidenheimer 2021