The huge, old oak tree across the street from my window was cut down and removed last week. This tree, and most in our neighborhood, survived many decades of storms and hurricanes, standing tall and graceful. My heart ached as I watched its limbs cut off, then its big, strong trunk cut down. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve sat at my table looking out into those high branches as I coached by phone… wrote messages… worked on projects. I miss that tree, as I’m sure all the bugs, birds and squirrels that lived and played in it do, too.
After surveying the situation, though, I realized the oak tree on our side of the street – for decades not fully grown, with hardly any branches on one side because of all the shade the bigger tree provided – now will be able to breathe, enjoy sunlight and rain, and develop into its own greatness. No longer overshadowed.
When one door closes, another opens, if you look for it. I’m choosing to see the silver (or should I say leafy green) lining in this change.
