Once I thought you were probably the nicest person I'd ever met. Now, however, I know the truth. You're not a person at all. You're a tree. Were I more observant a friend, I'd have realized this sooner. All those days I spent talking to you, sharing secrets, wondering why you wouldn't open up and talk to me, those days were wasted. I should have been pruning you. I should have been watering you. I should have been climbing you, or installing a tire swing on one of your larger branches so you could enjoy the potential of proverbial children at play. We can never get that time back. And now you're felled, a victim of progress. If you were of better wood, I'd carve a walking stick from you, and take you with me when I perambulate the hillsides. We're not like that, however, you and I. You'll never be a walking stick and I'll never carry one. We're hackberry trees. We're a dime a dozen to the world. To me, though, you're priceless.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
