A little over two years ago, I wrote a blog post titled Hometree. We had just seen the movie Avatar shortly before and then I came upon this tree in a little greenbelt close to our bank. It’s an odd area, amidst office buildings, with no benches or other comforts to encourage anyone to visit there but it’s very lovely. Maybe it’s just meant to be appreciated as you drive by but I like to stop there from time to time.
Anyway, this Hometree is a mammoth mesquite tree with huge, winding, gnarled limbs wrapping around each other and even wrapping around limbs in adjacent trees. A few weeks ago, Tony and I stopped there after going to the bank because he had never seen Hometree up close. Poor Hometree looked pretty sickly, dead limbs, dried leaves. In fact, several of the mesquite trees looked pretty bad even though the grass is plush and well-watered.
Then, about 2 weeks ago, I drove by and glanced at Hometree and half of her was gone! I took my camera back a couple days later and documented what is left.
I think the largest of the two main limbs is what was removed.
A little bit of a difference, huh?
She still has a certain grace but not the majesty she once had.
This one, below, is Hometree’s partner tree, also thinned out. Hometree’s branches (on the upper right side of the photo) still reach toward and intertwine with the other tree’s limbs.
I’m glad they are attempting to save the trees rather than cut them down, though.
You can see that there were several more large limbs removed.
Hang in there, Hometree.
not only in lightening storms
or the watery dark of a summer’s night
or under the white nets of winter
but now, and now, and now – whenever
we’re not looking. Surely you can’t imagine
they don’t dance, from the root up, wishing
to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting
a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly
more shade – surely you can’t imagine they just
stand there loving every
minute of it, the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings
of the years slowly and without a sound
thickening, and nothing different unless the wind,
and then only in its own mood, comes
to visit, surely you can’t imagine
patience, and happiness, like that.