Bob’s last stand
At the entrance to the woods stood a particularly massive tree. I don't know my species well enough, and this tree was more than just another tree, this tree was an individual. I'll name him Bob.
Bob had been there forever. He was a guardian of the entrance, providing the surety of his canopy in the summer, and the beautiful looming silhouette of branches high into the sky in the winter.
Last week, there was a lot of activity around Bob. He'd had his branches sawn off and piled neatly on the back of a lorry. He looked forlorn, but still. There was a determination about his now bereft single stature that was curiously admirable.
Three tree surgeons worked methodically and carefully around his base, within a cordoned off area to protect us members of the public.
Another worker was waiting in a tractor a bit further away, a large thick rope tethering Bob's trunk to the vehicle.
At the signal of one of the surgeons, the tractor revved and started to reverse. It was clear that the objective was that Bob must fall.
The rope snapped.
It was powerfully emotional to watch. Bob wasn't ready to go, despite the inevitability, he stood firm.
I couldn't stay to witness the completion of the mission. It was too sad; it touched a raw nerve inside of me.
Bob was always there, long before any of us, he would have been there. Maybe before the park was even a park. Maybe before the neighbourhood was even a neighbourhood.
Bob never grumbled, never made any demands, and was always ready to greet the children, the dogs, the squirrels, the walkers who came upon his majesty every day.
Bob was always there. Until one day, last week when he wasn't.
Goodbye Bob, I'll miss you.