Deep Roots
Ever since I was little, the roots of that tree had burrowed deeper into the ground and allowed it to grow more sturdy and soothing to me. The tree had towered higher and higher with each passing day, nearly stretching to the lush sun. The fragile branches that had encircled me in joy every day, had grown longer and more gentle as time ticked on, and the contentment that had come with visiting the tree was enough to send me back, and back again. I seeked that tree out for comfort during unbearable times, bliss on dark and grave days and whenever I felt that I couldn’t keep up with life's fast pace. There were moments when I found myself astonished by how my tree had managed to keep it’s youth, while it seemed that I have aged briskly and withered into the dreaded teenage years. There were occasions when I would weep and spill all my misfortunes, but nestled up in the tree, I felt at peace. That tree had been the center of my life for so many years, and I am not about to let some guys with Bob-the-builder construction hats waltz in and snatch it away from me.

I always dreaded the day when it would be decided to demolish my tree. I knew it would come eventually, but I did all in my will to clear that inevitable thought from my mind. I vowed that when it was decided time to rid the park of the hassle and hard work that was needed to care for the tree, I would try to prevent the follow through of diminishing my poor tree. But then again, in my gut I knew it wasn’t something a pleading face would fix.

Today is the day, almost 15 years since the tree and I had bonded. Today is the day they will drill down, crushing the roots, puncturing the limbs and halting new memories from being made. Today is the day that they will attempt to destroy my tree, but there is no way I’ll allow them to breeze successfully through that task.

The chopping of my tree is scheduled at noon, and I am of course going to be there. I made sure I awoke at the rise of the sun and headed to the park to save my tree, natures nurturing mother, from being minced down. I crept into the park, the early morning grass slicing into my ankles and made my way over to the large maple tree. My tree was somber, it’s branches quivering. My tree, tame and tender, knew it’s fate. “It’s okay,” I whispered into the meek branches that I had grown accustomed to. I clambered up deep into the tree, sat thinking for hours and enjoying the moment of jubilance. Then they came.

The tough construction guys, hefty and robust, drove in with large pickup trucks and determined faces. Peeking out of the branches at the macho men, I give them a slight wave. With their gruff voices they holler at me to come down so they can proceed with their job, but I shake my head in refusal. They laugh throaty, bellowing laughs that ring through the peaceful park, and I don’t blame them. I would laugh too if a petite, 19 year old girl with pursed lips and crossed arms, claimed she was going to stay hunched in a tree all day long. I roll my eyes at them and explain that there is no way I am dismounting this tree, but they seem to doubt my proposal.

By now, the park is swarming with people, as it is usually a popular destination. Kids sprint around and giggle gleefully, with their sweaty faces and eager expressions. They slither down the twisted slides and trundle down the grassy hill while the glow of the sun creates a warm aura around them. A crowd has gathered around my tree and they watch as I sit with peace and tranquil.

A few young children begin to race around the tree and couples set up blankets beneath the branches for a shady picnic. The construction men look cross at the flock of people enjoying the shade of the tree and open their mouths to say something when I intrude. “Obviously this is a mistake,” I start, directing my voice towards them. “Everyday people visit this tree, seek protection from the sun and enjoy themselves in this very spot. Everyone will be devastated if you conquer this tree, if you sever it. This tree holds history, destroying that would be a blunder.” I clamor. More and more people gather around and start to chime in memories of the tree and how they wished for it to grow on and everlast in the park.

I see the muscle-men sigh with looks of defeat on their stale faces and I grin with rejoice. The construction guys sulk away in their pickup trucks and people cheer at the thought, that the tree will remain. My tree, faithful as an old dog, was going to live on and stretch nearer to the bright sun. My tree, in all it’s glory would always be there for me and that was an enlightening, comforting thought.