Where once they stood, now they lay.
Missing the ferns, the deck, the house, the fence,
A miracle, nothing but they were damaged
Or, protection we cannot see,
My daughter mourns. “Please, don’t cut them” she begs,
caresssing their twists and fissures.
Their bark is smooth, warm to touch and so close to human skin tone. Why have I not noticed this before?
We shared this land. They and I.
It troubles me that their energy is more noticeable once fallen,
Perhaps it is grief,
Perhaps it is acceptance.
I judge myself harshly for not noticing our similarities while they stood.
She is right to mourn. It brings us to tears, together.
We keep the bulk intact.
I am quietly proud that my child mourns for nature in this way. With grief comes compassion.
With compassion comes consideration.
There is hope.