We still have the ancient maple at the library parking lot.
How many times have I, and others, stood within her embrace? How many times have we enjoyed her generosity of being? I remember driving into town early spring maybe seven years back and she had been severely pruned. I shuddered, thinking this pruning would kill her. Nope. That spring she sprouted a vibrant crown of new growth, and since, with each growing season her branches thicken and her radiance of green leaf speaks the strength of her roots.
Have you ever stood in the embrace of this grandmother’s cloak? How has this fiction been created around the parking lot and ancient maple being unsafe?