A Tree Fallen

You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it sheds needles all over your flowers or wakes you, dropping big cones onto your deck at still of night.  ~Denise Levert

Today we gave rest to the issue of what to do with the tree at Grandma's house. For many a year we have been wondering, "if a microburst were to fall Grandma's tree, which way would it fall? The street or the house." Well, today I watched as Grandma had her very tall pine tree cut down. 

I watched when the house was built in home movies and I saw what the yard looked like back then. After 50 years, things on the house have changed very little.The only way to see time pass was to look at the cars in the carport ant the plants in the yard and it was fun to see the height of trees and shrubs change through the years in various photos and videos.

No more will we see the pine tree grow though. It was a hazard and stress for Gram and I'm glad that it has been relieved. No more worries of fires or falling. Now the sun pours into the family room window where it was once shadowed. And although it is weird to see the house with an empty corner on the north where the tree once stood, it is for the better and for good. :)  

So here is to the tree that we played under for years and we have watched grow. I could get poetic and say that it has seen us grow through the years, has seen a number of things happen at Grandma's house, and has many stories to tell (If trees could talk that is). But I am not a poet and will leave all the poetry to Jeff.. I will however include a few versus that I found on the subject and leave the photos to speak for themselves. 

Is this sappy enough? I am talking about a pine tree after all. Har Har!

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

~Joyce Kilmer, "Trees," 1914