by Nona Estrin
So many birds showing up at the bird-bath for refreshment, and in the shad trees for berries, the young of the year following closely, begging, I love high summer and look around scanning the trees, hearing the wind rustling their leaves. My eyes keep falling of the big ashes east of the deck. Handsome old trees, and I’ve taken them for granted. The shade each summer ‘till noon, the late sun on the big branches in afternoon. And now I remember my father speeking of losing the great chestnuts in his childhood, and I recall the elms of mine. Now the young will go through this loss of a beloved tree. I vow to honor each day of their continued health, and when gone, I won’t forget them.