Wednesday pondering – on friends lost

Did you ever cry for a tree? I did yesterday, for a seven years old acacia that was growing in the back of my yard. That tree was barely rising when I and my husband moved in the house where we live. In the past years it grew into a splendor. Last year even, to our surprise, it bloomed four times – quite unusual.
Nature decided to cut it down the other night. I didn’t cry when my grandmother died. I didn’t feel the need to – due to various reasons. . But yesterday morning the back of my yard was suddenly so empty, and the sight of the field behind it so desolating, that I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. The wind that took it down was still blowing, awfully strong, but I knelt aside the fallen trunk and put a hand on it, as it lay there. The bark was cold and rough, and I felt so terribly sorry, as if someone very dear to me had just passed away and for some reason it was because of my fault, because I’d let it down. I know…”it’s just a tree”, some of you could think. To those of you I only want to say that no tree is just a tree.
Three meters further from it there is an old cherry tree. Very old. Half of it is dead already, hollow. Last year my husband and I were talking about cutting it down – this spring, as if praying to be allowed to continue to live, it blossomed in the most beautiful way possible. We decided to let it live.
Ironically, the cherry tree is still there. Even if half dead, it still stands, despite it having faced the same awful wind. The acacia, on the other hand, though strong and healthy, fell. Maybe that’s why I felt the need to cry – because of the frustration that encompassed me when I tried to understand what twisted reason could nature have to help survive an old and crippled tree but take down another younger and stronger one? But then, as I sat there, by the fallen acacia’s side, I realized that the wind of change never cares about one’s age or strength. I will not say that “there’s a reason in everything that happens”. Maybe it is. But what I want to tell you is that there is nothing that proves better the evanescent nature of all things on earth than the death of those still young, still strong.
My seven years old acacia is now dead. But thirty centimeters away from the now broken tree, a young acacia sprout started to grow this year. And now I wonder if that could be the way in which my now dead friend prepared itself – and me – for its passing…



© 2013 Liliana Negoi



The text is mine, the image was taken from


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