Hacked to pieces.
The majestic Larch which we awaited every spring bursting, as it did, into bright lime green, renewed and fresh, a sign of hope for one and all. We saw it from the back windows of our house and it lifted the spirit and refreshed the soul.
Now it is gone.
This morning I heard the chainsaws and my heart sank. I hoped against hope that it wasn't the Larch, that perhaps it was just some fool stupidly cutting their overgrown ivy in the midst of winter's snow and ice, as fools are wont to do.
But it was so much worse, it was a team of hooligans, masquerading as tree 'surgeons' in bright dayglo jackets as if they cared, hacking down the beautiful Larch.
The ignorant perpetrators probably thought that it was dead; the Larch, a majestic tree in its summer splendour, being the only deciduous member of the conifer family. Here it was in deep winter sleep, but the sap was rising. And although ignorance may be bliss for some, it is no excuse for desecration.
In the whole neighborhood, there now remains just one single mature tree, a lone oak. The people who own the garden, where this oak lives, are lovers of nature so there is hope that their appreciation will extend to this final surviving tree.
But for now, I close the door to the back rooms of our house as the chainsaw rattles on and the last remaining limbs of the Larch fall to the ground, its spirit extinguished and its beauty lost.
The Larch, her fresh green light in spring,
will no more hear my spirit sing.
I watched in anguish, broken hearted,
as she fell, her soul departed.
Hacked and murdered, killed by fools
whose reckless whim was learnt in schools.
Where once they'd teach appreciation
now they just preach desecration.
The Larch which stood a hundred years
through war and peace, through joy and tears.
Goodbye companion, mighty tree.
My friend and my soliloquy.
© Jason Endfield 2018
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