There was a tree on my way to work.
For years, we greeted one another at the beginning and the end of the day.
I watched the seasons move through its branches as gentle green leaves turned gold and red before drifting to the ground. I remember a crow that often visited nearby. He would land at the very top of the crown and sit there quietly, surveying the world below. I used to greet him and ask how his day was going. In my imagination, the crow and I shared conversations, and I always asked the crow and the tree to take care of one another.
This spring, I was looking forward to seeing the familiar canopy return to its full, lush greenness.
The sweetgum tree became one of the highlights of my days. I looked forward to every trip past that familiar corner. There was something special about our relationship. I felt deeply connected to the tree, and the tree remained present no matter what was happening in my life. I shared joys, worries, thoughts, and sorrows there and somehow felt safe. I felt heard. I felt seen.
Sometimes I would be waiting at the red light with my window open, simply watching the branches move in the wind. And in my own way, I felt that the tree knew.
The tree stood quietly through chapters of my life that changed me forever.
Yesterday Morning
Yesterday morning began like so many others.
As usual, I drove by and said good morning to my friend. I was focused on traffic and making my turn safely, so I only glanced briefly toward the tree and offered our familiar greeting.
Before work, I decided I would claim the morning as my own. I stopped at a coffee shop, bought coffee and bread, and sat outside on the patio beneath friendly branches. Holding the warm cup in my hands, I decided I would welcome the day with gratitude and allow myself to enjoy being alive.
Nothing seemed unusual.
The Shock
After work, I drove toward our usual place.
As I approached the familiar intersection, I was already thinking about saying good night.
Then I saw the stump.
For a moment, I could not understand what I was seeing. My first thought was that I had somehow mistaken the location. I looked around quickly, trying to make sense of the scene.
Then I realized the tree was gone.
My body went still.
I could feel my heart racing.
Gathering What Remained
Tears blurred the road before me. Somehow, I parked the car and walked toward the place where my friend had stood.
I found a few branches and carefully picked them up.
Their leaves were still vividly green.
They were still breathing in the afternoon air.
Later, I turned toward the crosswalk and pressed the button automatically, moving through familiar motions without really thinking. As I waited, I noticed wood chips scattered along the road.
Cars passed by as the signal changed.
I bent down and gathered the small pieces from the pavement.
To others, they may have looked like debris.
To me, they felt like stardust.
The Bluebird
While I stood there grieving, a bluebird landed nearby.
For a little while, we shared the same patch of earth.
I thanked the bird quietly for his company.
Then a wave of scent drifted through the air, the unmistakable smell of fresh leaves and green wood. It felt like a gentle touch from my tree, as if it were offering comfort one final time.
I whispered to the bluebird and asked if he felt the breeze too.
When the bird finally flew away, I turned and walked slowly toward my car, patiently waiting for me along the street.
This morning I said good morning to my friend.
Tonight I carried a branch home.
And love remained.
The tree is gone.
But the relationship is not.
The years are not.
The conversations are not.
The crow on the crown is not.
The memories are not.
And the love certainly is not.
This being existed.
This life mattered.
This relationship mattered.