This may seem silly to you if you have never loved a tree, but I have loved many in my life. Growing up in my neighborhood, there was a small little park down from my house. A small stream maybe a foot deep meandered for a block and under a small foot bridge. The stream was lined with many trees, but there was one in particular that I loved.
It was a beautiful evergreen that sadly wept its branches in such a way that I could almost hide under them. I would spend hours playing under that tree and when I was older, I would often just sit on a rock under the protection of its sad branches.
Recently, I took my kids to this same park. The bridge was still there, the stream was smaller than I remembered, but my tree was gone. Someone had cut it down to a sad stump. My sitting rock was gone. I lovingly touch its stump, trying to calculate the years I had spent with the tree, in the rings that remained. My kids asked me what was wrong and I just sighed and said, "My favorite tree used to be here." Like an old lady who was mourning something sentimental, that means nothing to the new generation.