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Goodbye, Tree.

Today the woodcutters started work on one of three dead trees in our garden.

These three trees were here before I was even born. I wish I knew who planted them and with what thoughts. I wish I could know how they died. Could we have saved these three, somehow? Others have gone before them and I worry for the last tree standing.

The first tree to fall towers five stories higher than our roof. When I was seven years old, the ground around that tree was covered in camote. Before that, a canvas artwork that became part of a series of photographs by my Tatay was hanging between that tree and another one that had to go. There's a photo somewhere of me and my poodle, Star, at the foot of this tree. Star and I grew up together from when I was two years old until she was 11. And I remember another photo of a childhood friend and I beside this tree. You can't even see the tree's branches in the photos. Only its solid trunk. Where are these photos? I need to find them.

The woodcutters cleared away the gawed that was growing at its base and embracing its body. They cleared away the bougainvillea that was its crowning glory. Tomorrow they will come with a chainsaw.

It's raining all of a sudden. Could the sky be crying the tears I am holding in?




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