While examining that tree, the neighborhood's chief tree guy, Carmen, spotted another oak near the house, one that has much more meaning for me, one that the girls' zip wire line used to run from, one that sits prominently in the middle of the yard.
"It's half-dead now," Carmen said, "Call me when the next half dies."
I take each downed tree personally. For me, a dead tree is a lost friend. For Carmen, a dead tree is more business. I call him the Grim Reaper.
