It Was A Fine Old Tree

I'm mourning the loss of my favorite tree.  It is gone.  There is a huge hole-an empty space-that now looms in my view out my window each morning, noon and night. I fell in love with this tree the moment I saw it.  It conducted the water symphonies and choreographed the dancing diamonds on the Lot.  It grabbed every ray of sunshine to make a coat of rainbows.  During the fall it became burgundy and gold. Winter's sweet snowfalls gently dusted my tree with a soft, white cuddliness. I wanted to hug it that Christmas.  I've counted over sixteen photos I'd taken of my tree over our years here together, though we never quite got that moon river shot that I've tried for a million times. And so today, I say good by to an old friend who lies in the Lot...a victim of our eroding river bank. I will miss my tree. It was special.  I am still getting over the shock of it dropping out of sight, and then finding it in the river yesterday when I went to see what had happened.  When you see the photos below through the seasons, I think you'll have to agree that it was a fine old tree.