Murder

Today I watched a tree get murdered. It happened right in front of my house so it was painfully difficult to avoid. Limb by limb it was reduced to nothing until it was just a naked phallic shaped piece of wood waiting to be castrated.

I don’t know how old the tree was but it stood tall, maybe a hundred feet in the air. It was much older than myself with its large, reaching branches covered in cones. The stories it could tell would probably write an entire book, if given the chance.

It wasn’t dying or weak, just too old and powerful to control. Therefore, it had to go.

Clearly, it wasn’t my decision. I actually loved the tree, as much as one could love a tree. It shaded my house and was comfortable home to the neighborhood birds. The squirrels seemed to like it too. I would often sit in my hammock and watch them chase each other… but not today.

As a matter of fact, today I didn’t see the squirrels at all. Instead, I sat in my hammock and watched the old, powerful tree get murdered.

At one point when the man in the white box elevated high above my house stopped his chainsaw, I yelled, “ARE YOU KILLING THAT TREE?”

I don’t think he spoke much English but he knew what I was asking.

“Si!” he yelled down to me.

“WHY?!”

He put his hands up, for he had no idea. It was just his job. He was a hired gun, a hit man of sorts, and his job was to destroy this noble coniferous.

It took him all day to get the tree down and when he finally left, there was still a dozen or so large logs that needed to be hauled off. I assume that will be taken care of tomorrow, but for now they just sit there breathing their last breath. I can almost hear them gasping for life while I drink a glass of wine in my dining room.

Rest in pieces, old tree. May I help you live forever.

I start to cry real tears, the kind that sting your cheek. Maybe it is the idea that every living thing must die that gets me frustrated with life. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it has to do with control and the idea that we are all just on a long march to our own death.

This tree didn’t want to die, but no living thing truly wants to die. That is why humans fantacize about heaven, like the after life will finally bring their soul peace.

Did this tree have a soul? Does it have an afterlife? If you consider the amount of energy, both potential and kinetic, existing within its cells, it obviously wasn’t done living.

Humans don’t do that. We don’t give our energy back to the environment that created us. Instead we are put in caskets and incinerated so that our species can be selfish, even in the afterlife.

We murder everything around us and yet I still cry for that tree.

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