Dear poor, scraggly oak tree…
I am sorry that you have been trimmed by previous owners over the years in a manner that reveals not your broad and brawny potential but, instead, the malnourished skeleton of a mighty oak that can now never be.
There were other indignities. Being hemmed in by electrical lines. Foliage so scant that wildlife rarely paid you a visit. The precipitous slope — your roots clung desperately to the hard-packed incline with wooden, arthritic knuckles. You fought back by dumping acorns annually on the only path up the hill, making for more than one comical pratfall. Touché, my friend. You dumped me on my ass, yes.
But now you can rest easy. Your Dr. Kavorkian is here at last.
This leaves me conflicted. On the one hand, it seems a shame to end your life. On the other hand, your end was swift.
And your absence now makes way for the relative safety of steps up the hill where there used to be an icy slalom in winter. Not only that — three stately evergreens. Three!
You served well, oak tree. Be proud. Potential for great beauty now fills your negative space. And nine of your oaken tribe remain to carry on your acorn legacy in other parts of the yard.