It was on a Thursday

They cut down all of its branches

I remember the leaves were all scattered every which way

Each brisk breeze just tumbled them all around

The tree didn’t sway when the wind hit it, at least not after that

 

The sound of humming came from saws and trimming equipment

That was what woke me up

That morning

I could hear the sound of the leaves bustling when it happened

The sound of the pop and crack of each branch

The sound of the bark spontaneously peeling

 

It smelled unbelievably pleasant as I walked toward it

It was autumn and the leaves were bursting with hues of yellow and orange

The fresh green limbs were aromatic, almost lime

They lay all about before the chipper

 

The sky was pretty well cloudless that day, at least that morning

Cirrus wisps were all that drifted above in the passing wind

They kept the boisterous noise going for hours till their lunch break

That tree just waited, ever-patient

 

I remembered when I use to pass under those branches

I remembered them in late fall when they had the chance to loose their leaves

I remembered lowering my head as I rode my bike below the limbs

I remembered how it looked on that corner – noble, colossal

It truly was a mammoth of a tree

 

The tree’s scent was potent Thursday morning

Potent with that green woodiness mingling in the breeze’s autumn palette

I could no longer hear the passing of that breeze on account of the equipment

It use to go through the leaves, garnering envy from all the other trees

 

When I first looked out my window I hadn’t paid much attention to the sound of leaves

But now I noticed, as I stepped closer, that they didn’t move in the rush

The chipper was too loud to hear them even if they were moving

Each step the smell grew more tainted by the tobacco and diesel exhaust

 

I remembered the bark I once so admired

The bark had all sorts of ridges and the ants would crawl up and down and in-between

I use to watch the drama play out as they carried things back and forth

I use to wonder what it would feel like to have insects crawl over me all day and night

I use to wonder if it was fun to have families of birds and squirrels grow up on my body

 

Then I watched the bark pulled back and stripped off that porcelain trunk

Porcelain is pure and stainless

Pasty white orbs protruded all over the massive trunk

Those strange growths appeared to be glistening

The whole thing was glistening like a fresh ivory tusk

It was beautiful in its skinless glory

“What a tree,” I thought to myself

Only it wasn’t so much dignified anymore

 

Rather than use a chainsaw I watched one of them come with an axe

There was no doubt he had rhythm

It was as if the wind was stifled then

It was as if the machinery paused moment by moment

With each swing the blade clunked and sunk

A beating, as if a heart, not so rapid, but paced

A rhythm that beat against the hard white trunk

Again and again I watched the fibers tear and splinter, its perfumed moisture seeping

Each beat silenced everything around me

My breathing became patterned after that rhythm

 

And I remembered the leaves again

And I remembered what it was like to pass by that corner where the foliage used to be

Those branches were so strong and rigid, but they would gladly sway with each passing gust

And I remembered how often I use to see the stars and moon peak around those branches

They use to appear between the spaces up at the top, twinkling like light off this porcelain trunk

 

The axe cut deeper and deeper for hours it seemed

I began to think that surely a chainsaw would work better

It seemed to take forever and I grew impatient

“Why are they using a single axe?”

“Couldn’t they just get it over with?”

I suddenly felt like I should help them

 

I remember how that pain rippled through my hands with each swing

It was that Friday when they hauled away the rest of the trunk

I looked down at that big round stump

The circumference clearly etched out before me

 

There was a big tree once

I don’t think anyone would know it now

It would be a couple more days for these blisters

Then I suppose I wont think about it anymore