Goodbye tree.

A well established garden is a pleasure.  I thoroughly enjoy wandering around checking on the plants, picking off dead leaves, admiring the lush growth, the pretty rosebuds, getting stupidly excited about a tomato or patti-pan bursting forth in my veggie patch.  Gardens are places for contemplation and, I believe, reflect the state of mind of the gardener.  Bird song and quiet in the late afternoon makes me happy.  I often sit at my outside table sipping a chilled glass of wine and watch as the last rays of sunlight turn to dusky twilight.  The bats suddenly appear swooping and swishing, catching insects.  The circle of life is very much apparent if one just takes the time to notice.  Birds nest, lizards bask, spiders spin, butterflies burst forth after their caterpillars have decimated leaves.  I do not believe in using anything that purposefully kills so I share my garden with all manner of species.  Sometimes, because we are human, we feel the need to do away with things in our gardens that no longer serve a purpose or are encroaching on our property.  It has finally come to pass that the Eugenia tree has spread its roots under the house.  It is almost seven metres tall, a restaurant for the baboons who love its pink berries and is home to all manner of bird life.  The decision was made to fell it a few months ago, but it was reprieved because our little black cat needed it to escape to the roof.  Now that the cat has moved out, its death knell tolled.  I chose a tree feller carefully, someone who would understand that a tree for me is not just a tree.  The tree feller promised to carefully put any nests he found in another tree.  Today is the day.  I went out at dawn to say thank you and goodbye to the tree.  When I went to the bank early to draw the money to pay for the job I suddenly realised how sad I was at this prospect.  That tree has grown with us as a family.  As is the way of the universe, I met a lovely lady in the queue and found myself telling her about the tree.  She understood and assured me the tree would understand.  I drove home.  The tree feller arrived and now as I type, I can hear the chainsaws.  I cannot bear to look.  I mourn this end of life and it hurts, but that is the nature of me and I couldn't do it any other way.