By this time tomorrow, the sycamore tree in my front yard will be gone. Sycamores need a lot of water, and over the past few years, Texas, like the rest of the Southwest, has suffered a severe drought. The tree was one of its casualties.
So tomorrow it has to go. I’ll be there when it does.
That sycamore and I have been friends all my life. While I watch it come down, I’ll have my crying towel close at hand.