I’ve lived in the same neighborhood with the same walking path on the same streets with the same houses and the same daily joys for 17 years. For the most part, only the children have changed, and of course that’s a lovely thing — growing and learning and blossoming and becoming. I have issues with change, but I do my best to handle it gracefully.

Sometimes though, it hurts to the core.

Sometimes it’s murderous.

You may not remember my first post on the sisters shown above, but oh they were magnificent. Huge lovelies planted together like sisters indeed, filled to the brim with boughs and acorns and leaves shimmering with every passing breeze. Every single day, they were the highlight of my walk, and I’m pretty sure they enjoyed the meeting as much as I did.

One day last week, I noticed some trimming in progress, which isn’t unusual with trees. But then the next day they were missing — gone — a HUGE empty space surrounded by sawdust and loss. They had not only been cut to the ground, but their very roots dug out, tossed into trucks, and hauled off as if they had never existed.

Who does these things?

In this case, new owners moved in, ripped out the old and planted spindly screening trees. They could be considered cute enough, but they’ll never be majestic or live lifetimes or serve as the protectors and watchers of the neighborhood.

Change sucks. People say it isn’t true and I know they’re right in some sense, but in my world, change can really suck. Sigh.