By: Stocktony
I’ve got this small tree out in my backyard. It’s bloomed out in purple right now. This tree is resplendent in the early spring, sharply contrasting the still-awakening forest behind.
Every year, my aim is to cut the tree down.
It’s pretty, sure, but it’s also leaning at what I can surmise with my straight-C high-school geometry education is a 30-35 degree angle, jutting out from the knoll behind my home, reaching towards my pool and the deck which surrounds it.
The flames from Christmas-Day box burning once danced to the tree’s top, licking the limbs. But now, the flames aren’t as high, and the tree has grown far past the fire pit.
Add to it: I admire the tree. It’s tough, man. It’s an outcast, something not like the others. It’s an original, albeit for reasons most would not choose to be. And, again, I must admit, it’s a pretty tree more because of its uniqueness than in spite of it.
But someday, it’s going to fall. It can’t keep holding on. And it will cost me.
I’ve got hundreds of trees in my woods. Maybe thousands. And this year, just like last, my aim is to cut this one down. Yes, that’s my aim.