Sunday, 26 February 2012

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The tree was its normal self. Little did I know that within a few days it would cease to be. It was a nice morning, yellow and white crocuses  were sprouting at the top of the park and on the hill and the sun was streaming into the corner graced by the tree.

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Although neighbouring trees were showing signs of spring not our little tree. It turned brown in autumn when other had almost entirely shed their load. It lost its leaves weeks after other trees had been hibernating.

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A closer look suggested there may be some budding blossoms…

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…but for the moment there was little to blow in the wind.

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On the way to the tree there was an interesting sight for our usually tranquil park in the shape of a dog dragging the cadaver of a large bird between its teeth.

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Was it a harbinger? Did the sound of the dog crunching on the bones of its prey foretell the grinding sound of woodcutters at work nearby butchering an innocent graceful tree? Could I have known what was to befall the tree this week? That before the week was out all that would be left would be a sore, raw stump?

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