that is no more...

There is a tall, beautiful beech tree down by the flood plain that has its roots spreading into the mud at its feet. I was never introduced to beeches when I was young on Long Island but I know they existed. I have a picture.

 My father is slim, with shiny dark hair almost in his eyes and he is holding a hand. The lady by his side is my grandmother's sister, known as Aunt Kate. She is smiling broadly, his smile is shy.They are standing under a shade tree; my mother wrote the date on the back, 1914 or 15. And then these words,"under the Beech that is no more". Those words have always saddened me.

The Beech is one of  a few  trees known as marcescent, meaning they retain their leaves in the winter. This type of shade tree keeps its leaves to protect the smooth bark that could get burned by the winter sun. I can see them, the few back in the woods. They bring some color of sorts to the dark landscape. The leaves are papery and light beige; you can't miss them as they dot the drab winter woods.I look for them every winter.

The Long Island Beech is gone as is my great Aunt Kate and my Dad.As is the mother who wrote the words.One day, the Flint River beech will be gone as well as the woman who wrote a haiku today in it's honor.

                                               Long ago, a beech
                                        roots go deep in the floodplain
                                             this one here for now.