The gorgeous elm tree next to my fifth floor apartment was felled this week. Up amidst it’s verdant leafy boughs, I enjoyed the cooling privacy it gave me. During light rains I could hear it tremble. In a soft breeze it sighed and swayed. In high windstorms, it vigorously brushed the brick and windows. I awoke to the gnarling sound of chainsaws and the sight of the nursing home that had been hidden by the elm’s foliage.
Shock quickly boiled into rage. I grabbed my sketchbook to indict the muthafukker cutting it down. Yes, I realized my elm was most likely diseased, that the crew was just doing their job, that they most likely had families that loved them, that they probably tithed at church, loved their pets, supported the local sports teams, Â had personal relations with Jesus, payed their taxes, and changed their socks often. O K, granted. Still, they were hacking my beautiful companion to pieces and feeding to the mechanical beast below my window.
Platinum Carbon ink, fountain pens, Pitt Pens, Tomoe River Paper.