A few weeks ago as I was leaving to run errands, I heard it.

Heavy machinery down the street. I thought little of it as I hurried on my merry way and made a mental note to check it out upon my return.

Driving home I came across the source of the commotion and I was stunned.

I had read in the paper at some point that several old Live Oak trees were slated to be removed to accommodate road improvements. My husband and I had walked and driven the length of the street in question and had pointed out several trees that might be on the list. I lamented over each one.

Never had this big old beauty crossed my mind.

She stood proud and gracious just off of the high school campus, her sweeping branches arching over the street. My little dog scampered towards her each morning on our walk because it was a favorite hangout for chattering squirrels and scolding birds.

The road narrowed where she bumped out, drivers pulling to the side, yielding and waving to one another as they approached. It was a rhythm all were familiar with, a pause in the rush of the day.

The street had been built around her, respecting that nature had claimed the land first. Modern times seem to have lost sight of that, seeing nature as an inconvenience that stands in the way of “progress” and road widening, and bigger vehicles and faster commute times.

My new friend Randy paused his big yellow bulldozer (?) when he saw me standing off to the side in bewilderment documenting the fall of the big old tree. He told me the tree was about 200 years old from what he could tell, showed signs of rot and was in the process of dying. He said it in the way that parents tell children their dog has gone to “live on a farm” so I am not sure I believe him.

He invited me to get in closer, take a piece of wood. He waited until my car cleared the bend before starting up his motor and finishing the job.

For 200 years that tree had stood watch.

She filtered the laughs and shouts of school kids, saw them arrive and depart each day, imagined herself a protector, a keeper of secrets, a watcher. She was part of the ebb and flow of traffic, shade on a summer day, a whisper of leaves, a roar in the storm.

Today on our walk Dobby absently bounded toward the tree only to be confused when it continued to not be there. He is part of nature and sees his surroundings in a psychic and spiritual way. He senses the energy I imagine still emanates from the spot, a phantom limb in the landscape that must still be navigated around and payed homage to.

As we pause, I think about the chaos theory, the butterfly effect.

I wonder how the language of the wind has been altered now that it no longer passes through the leaves and branches of this old tree.

The altered flight path of birds.

Cars passing by unobstructed, with no reason to pause or to wave.

I wonder at what point her loss will be noticed. Her absence regretted.

I don’t know when that will be, but I know it will be too late.

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