Glory shorn

The street I live in has organized a woodcutter and the beautiful African Tulip has been shorn of its glory. No longer will I step on fallen flowers after a shower, to slip, curse, and regain my balance. No longer will my car be showered with flowers that fall with a dull thump and mar the windshield with juices that refuse to go away.

But, no longer will I be able to glimpse the sky through those leafy branches and watch the moon rise highlighting the flowers briefly while on its heavenly journey.


I mourn the loss of the tree, but I am in a minority. A week ago, a branch dropped off for no ostensible reason and broke the wing mirror of a car parked below. It was a lucky thing the branch did not fall upon the car itself. The owner had already sent for the wood cutter and this was the last branch, ...er, straw. The tree had erred and it had to be punished.


This was the very tree that played host to the shikras that responded to my call. Crows would perch on its branches and call to my wife, demanding their share of the largesse that she put into a little plastic box and left for them to eat undisturbed. Squirrels leapt off its branches to confidently sail the short distance to my balcony railing so they could scurry up to the hibiscus flowers, pluck them and sip the nectar unafraid.

The squirrels will move on. Crows will perch, watchfully, on the electric cable running parallel to my balcony and the shikras will, doubtless, find another roost.

It's not an inconsolable loss. The tree still remains and the upper reaches are being left alone. Small mercies, for which I should thank God. My balcony is now bright and sunlit. A sunshine that will become unwelcome when the summer rolls around.