The Tree

There was a tree at the end of my parents' road. It stood by itself on the edge of the road, overlooking the valley. I was about 7 years old when I first noticed it. At that time it was not more than a sapling, its trunk not much wider than my wrist. We never thought it would live since the only water it got was during the winter. No one bothered to water it during the summer drought, but I suppose its roots dug deep into the rocks and drew water from some underground stream. Over the years it grew in height and in girth. It more or less grew with us kids. During the winter it would be buffeted by the wind, leafless and forlorn except for its beige-coloured berries. When spring came, the leaves would start to grow and in summer, it would provide a spot of cool shade. From a small sapling it grew into a big tree, with its trunk wide and strong. It majestically overlooked the valley from its lofty height. It because a familiar part of the landscape. It almost became a friend, something I had shared my childhood with, because I spent many an hour under the shade of its branches during the long, hot summers. Every time I would pass by it I would reminisce about how I remember the tree when it was still young and weak. In my mind, it had seemed indestructible after weathering so many seasons.

A few days ago, I passed by and the tree was gone. I stared in dismay at the empty, desolate spot where it used to grow. Someone had chopped it down. Perhaps it was blocking someone's view. Should anyone just be permitted to chop down a tree, especially in this land where trees are so scarce? Perhaps I am just upset because deep in my heart it used to be 'my tree'. All I know is that another symbol of my childhood has gone, never to come back. I feel sad when I think about it. I used to think that the tree would outlive us all and be there to tell the tale to my children and grandchildren. But it is not to be. Farewell beautiful tree. You will be sorely missed.