The crook of this tree held me as if it were made for my body. Tomorrow we will cut it up. It can’t stay precariously connected to the main tree forever. I’ve heard it creaking in a mild wind, something stronger could bring it crashing down. So I had a last nap in my tree. I had my picture taken in it. I made a drawing of it and I took some movies. I’ve been holding on in every way I can. The cutting is necessary, but it is exceedingly melancholy. The fallen tree and its masterful variations from black to gray to white bark, its bits of green still surviving from moisture left in the massive limb; is a beauty. I’ve cherished her over these last weeks, even as we have made her smaller and smaller. Oh dear tree how I will miss you.