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I had my head stretched back to the point where I thought it would fall off of my neck and I was staring at the moon that was just a sliver of light between the branches of the oak tree that was to be taken down the next day. I had lived with that tree all of my life until the blight hit last year. I had swung from its branches, I had climbed high enough that my parents yelled for me to come down. I had watched squirrels and blue jays explore. I had built a platform in the sixth grade in a poor attempt for a clubhouse that Patty and I had clumped around on until the board split in two and sent us falling to the ground surprisingly unharmed. Now, twenty years later, my parents were selling the house and I thought maybe they were selling it because the oak tree had died. I hugged the tree now, its dead bark rough against my cheek. The smell was different now. It was a lifeless smell. I couldn’t say exactly how it was different, but it smelled musty as if it had been sitting in an attic for far too long. I wondered how far down the roots reached into the earth and whether once the tree was cut down and the stump removed whether there would be pieces of the roots left to disintegrate and disappear into the soil. Maybe one shoot would rebirth a small trunk that would breach the surface and grown into another oak tree, a daughter oak tree. The descendent would give shade to the new occupants of the house and it would offer branches as homes to new birds. Someday maybe someone would stand just here, looking back, neck craning, for a look at the moon. It would be the same moon as I was seeing now, and the light would peak around the branches, except maybe then there would be leaves on the branches and a little less moonlight would be able to shine through.

I lifted my head back upright and stroked the dead bark of the oak tree. It had long been a friend. I wasn’t sure what would happen to the wood. Can dead trees be made into paper, or cardboard boxes or books, or business cards and wrapping paper. Would this tree end up around a present being sent off to a cousin in Japan? Or would it carry the words of a lover to a partner far away? Maybe it would hold a spray of perfume and lopsidedly drawn hearts surrounded by loopy handwriting. Maybe the wood would be composted and return to the earth slowly, giving food for insects and shelter for earthworms. I said goodbye to the oak tree. I wished it well through its transition to a new place in whatever use or non-use it might find. I thanked it for the joy it had given me. I was certain it would see moonlight still, wherever it would be next.