Sometimes I feel like a documentarian. My subject: the felling of trees in my neighborhood. This is not a job I sought or welcomed, but when the giants go, I want to record their passing. After all, they have shaded us for decades, have been beautifying this place for a century or more. Some of them are over 100 feet tall, and I treasure them.

The one meeting its maker today is visible from my office window. I write this post to the sound of chainsaw and wood grinder. The tree is healthy, but its owner fears it might fall on his house. And who can blame him, since a tree fell on the house of his neighbors and damaged it so mightily that they had to move out for months. 

It’s a little like shuttling old folks to the assisted living center earlier rather than later. Prophylactic placement, or in this sense prophylactic felling. All I know is, once again I’m recording the soon-to-be-gone.