There is a tree outside my window. I see two places where a chainsaw lopped off branches. T eh swirls and marring of tree and saw creates an image reminding me of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. A wicked looking smile. Eyes. Ears. It's all there if my imagination is permitted room to play just a little. This tree's strength was diverted to other places for growth, places higher. Limbs that would not have had as much access to the tree's strength found more resources available to expand.

I want to transition to thinking about my life, and how things I've lost have made room for more growth. Efforts I was making were removed, and my effort went elsewhere. But I'm not ready. I want to stay with the tree for a little while longer.

Photo by Joel & Jasmin Førestbird on Unsplash

What was that tree thinking when it saw the arborist coming—i.e., when it knew without a doubt what was about to happen?

"You're doing what? I've put so much effort into growing this limb? And you're going to take two from me? WTF? These aren't yours to take! You're not even giving me the option."

It had to mobilize its willingness as Rae says. Direct its effort to limbs and leaves it was permitted to keep. The limbs taken it had to mentally release, and in that release find agency instead of victim-ism.

Did it realize that releasing its mental hold on those lower limbs allowed it to grow taller, to spend more energy in limbs that would have continued receiving a lesser amount of energy?

Did it recognize how vulnerable its tree-ness was and is to the whims of humans to a much greater degree than the whims of storms?

Did it see the good that was coming from having its lower limbs removed?

It lost living parts. It lost body parts. It suffered loss.

I don't know its reactions. I am amazed at how it grew a handsome, thick branch just above the nub. A middle finger to human with the chainsaw. "You think you've taken from me. Here's me showing up anyway. I'll grow a stronger branch right above it."

I'd like to imagine this tree with some attitude. What living creature who has suffered loss doesn't have attitude? Of course, it can give an "F-You!" to humans.

Can I be as resolved to grow and expand as this tree? Can I be as resolved as this tree to say, "Onward. Upward. I'm gonna keep growing"? Can I see what's been taken from me as invitation to grow?

As a human who has more in common with the chainsaw-er than the tree, I can tell that the chainsaw-er treated the sapling with great care. The branch is cut close to the trunk to divert energy to the higher limbs more quickly. Care was taken even in the choice of the branch. Perhaps the branch had the beginnings of a disease that—when removed—enhanced the health of the tree and extended its life. It's possible that the tree outside my window received a second half of life when the two branches in question were severed from its side.

I would like to think that the losses I have suffered in life are allowing me to grow as this beautiful tree, who still knows how to grow its buds in spring, drop its leaves in fall, and flourish year-round.

On a tree outside my window

On my body

On “distraction”