You lie there motionless.
Your grand scale remains evident even though you have been carved up, into
what seems like a million pieces.
I witnessed them hack you up from the top down, limb by limb.
First your branches swan dived downwards, the leaves rattled as they softened
the blow and bounced off the soft moss-covered ground of the woods.
The whining of the chainsaw, the sound of intrusion, the unmistakable sound of
destruction, screamed piercingly, drowning out all other screams.
No one could compete.
Yet you stood there, tall and proud, even though you were stripped bare.
Naked and exposed.
Defiant.
I felt a nagging dread, and then a sharp tear as you fell to the ground with a
horrific thud that traveled up through the soles of my feet.
I heard you fall. You made a sound.
Your massive moan of final aspiration.
Against your will, you crushed all beneath you.
Your own offspring perished under your weight.
Collateral damage they called it.
Unavoidable, they said.
We attempted a search and rescue, but as in most cases, only a few were
saved. I wonder, with an angst I cannot fully explain, how many others left us,
those we cannot see, those who were hiding in your canopy.
You lie there motionless.
Your limbs scattered amongst your now-dead leaves.
Is there solace in knowing they will return to the soil?
You lie there motionless, baking in the hot sun from the newly opened hole in the
sky. Does she heal you? Or burn you slowly?
Are you still able to wish upon the stars?
What would you wish for now?
I long to turn away from your crime scene.
I long for you to disappear.
I long to forget the destruction.
Caused by my own bidding.
I am almost suffocated by my sorrow.
I pleaded to have you moved out of sight.
Evidence erased.
But there you lie.
Motionless.
Too big to move quickly, it will be a slow and difficult clean up.
I will not be able to forget that easily.
Disks of flesh reveal your age, and I find that I don’t even know how to
begin to say I am sorry.
Helpless.
You were unable to defend yourself.
Did you know how much I didn’t want to do it?
You were still green from the fruits of summer, and aging had not yet taken over.
I felt the pain of your loss long before you exhaled for the last time.
I feel anguish as I look at you lying there.
Motionless.
In my selfishness, I still want you gone, moved out of sight, where maybe I can
forget. Not that I want to forget you, but forget my actions, my guilt.
As if I had been the wielder of the sword.
I am guilty, yet to be charged, likely to get away unscathed.
So I torment myself instead.
Did you know what was happening when we wrapped a bright blue ribbon
around you?
Did you understand what you were chosen for?
When I put my hand on your thick and weathered bark and whispered, “goodbye my friend”, did you know what was about to happen?
Helpless.
I remember how you swayed in the wind.
Your leaves, synchronized, danced a wonderful swirling waltz, rustling as they
brushed against each other as the wind circled the narrow opening above me.
The wind whispered secrets I could not understand.
But I knew you did.
What happens now, as you lie there motionless?
What happens to your memories?
Your secrets?
Have I erased them? Or will they slip away, carried off by the wind?
Your stump remains in place like a headstone marking where you lie under the
soil. Your stump now offers a place to sit. Like the giving tree, always generous to
a fault.
There were others too.
They lie motionless as well.
Fallen giants.
I am glad you weren’t taken away too soon.
So I can bear witness. Face your suffering as well as my own.
In the spring, I will plant flowers in the open meadow that was created with your
departure and now serves as your grave.
For now, it’s time to hibernate and let the cold winter hold the stillness of sorrow,
giving you a place to grieve.
Giving me time to let go.
Wendy Wischer
Storrs Mansfield
