The photo above was taken in Louisiana. They have some pretty spectacular trees there. Lots of places do, really. Los Angeles is no exception, either. We have some mighty fine examples spread about town.
But yesterday my next door neighbor had his trees raped. He would probably say they were trimmed, but those poor trees would surely say otherwise. And until they’ve had time to fill in and grow, those trees are gonna appear pitiful.
The construction project that’s going on in our neighborhood led to the recent death of a grand old tree. The scrubby shrubs and spindly specimens meant nothing to me. But that giant, beautiful old tree – that was another matter. I about cried when they tore it down.
It’s funny that I’m nostalgic for trees at this time of year. Leaves are falling, leaving nothing to appreciate but bare branches. And a lot of varietals are nearing winter slumber, where they’ll stay until spring’s buds decide to show their fresh faces, like young girls wearing lip gloss for the first time. Maybe I’m not nostalgic for trees. Maybe it’s the change of season. Or rather, the time when there should be a change of season.
The other night at a party, I was talking with someone about our extended southern California summer. She said that if she complains about it to anyone outside Los Angeles, she’s reprimanded for not appreciating what we’ve got here. She and I went on to discuss how challenging our “perfect” weather can be. Maybe that’s what’s weighing on my soul today. That and the knowledge that there’s one less majestic tree in the world. I really could just about cry.