A great emptiness.
A shock of it yesterday as I was driving north out of Fairwater. The hawk's tree has been cut down, cut up for fire wood. Where its branches had clawed the sky, blue emptiness.
That tree was a marker. Passing it marked the start of my day. It was familiar; it was an abiding comfort; it is gone. The empty sky there will take some getting used to. Now you see it, now you don't. How can one speak reasonably about such a loss which tugs at the heart? You can't. The world goes on changing. You don't have to like it. Life goes on.
It is a blue sky morning, as if nothing has happened to the tree; blue sky and a little haze.
It is a warm morning, a sky full of bird sounds. A cat in the bedroom window of our house. Some small breeze.
A sheen of sunlight across the moisture on Washington Street, a blare of light like a morning trumpet.
Lascivious greenness in some of the fields north of the village.
The hawk's tree is gone, it is truly gone. Hole in the sky, that was the hawk's tree.
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