Tree

I see up the tree. I cannot see to the top.

It is too tall. But I can imagine the top.

Full of seeds and squirrels, bugs and bird nests, and even the occasional treehouse. The branches get thinner and thinner the further up you go, until breaking out at the top of the tree, greeted by warm sunlight and a smothering of leaves. I can see some leaves turning yellow, helping the tree prepare for the cold, winter nights. I look down at the ground, imagining the roots twisting through clay and rock. But then I imagine something terrible. In my imagination, I see a truck pull up. A worker with a saw strides up to the tree, gets out their saw, and starts sawing. I decide to protect the tree.