Chapter 3: Six Stumps in the Dirt
The six sycamore trees along the eastern side of my land were gone.
Not broken by wind.
Not trimmed.
Gone.
Those trees had been there for decades. Thick trunks. High branches. They leaned just slightly toward the sunlight like they had been listening to the world for forty years.
My dad planted three of them when I was a kid.
The other three came later.
Together, they formed a green wall that shielded my yard from the ridge above.
Now there were six stumps sitting in the dirt.
Fresh cuts. Flat and clean.
The work of professionals.
The branches had already been hauled away. Even most of the sawdust was gone, like someone had tried to clean up before leaving.
Mara stood near the fence with her arms crossed tightly.
She did not say, I’m sorry.
She simply shook her head… Continue Reading ⬇️