Someone cut down our almond tree. It is spring.

The tree was in full bud.

It stood in an open field, in no one's way. Needless death.

I could not stop weeping.

A week later the buds opened into sprays of white and for a moment I thought that bees would come and

fertilize these flowers and there might yet be fruit this yearwhat folly, to imagine immortality flowers are resurrection enough