Tree Hugger

Since I work in Lincoln Center, I knew for some time that some major construction was in store. When I exited the subway this morning, however, seeing the lovely Bradford Pears that had been in front of Alice Tully Hall chopped into pieces hit my like a punch in the gut. Not only am I one of those ridiculously sensitive souls who sees trees as living beings and their fresh carcasses as akin to roadkill, but these trees had been there for me for the last six or seven years. I marked the passing of seasons by them, thrilled when I saw new buds in early spring, enchanted when they flamed to deep red in autumn, tickled when they sported lighted "snowflakes" in winter, and cooled by them in summer. Office workers, local students and tourists alike rested in their shade on their marble planters, and birds enjoyed their tiny fruits. And there they were: stumps, in pieces, massacred.

Perhaps Lincoln Center will be better for all the renovations going on, and I doubt many will mourn their passing as I am. But this morning, it was a rude shock to see them forever removed from my life, and I will miss them.

I am very sad.