Along the back fence of our yard is a stand of ten redwood trees. They were planted way back when the Bay Area Rapid Transit system was constructed. By the time we moved to Groom Street in 1979, they were already well established. Ever since, they have been like old friends to us.

Over the years, the trees faced certain challenges. Invasive ivy took over, sending parasitic vines up the great trunks of the trees. Air pollution dusted the boughs with a grayish residue. And with the changing climate, bark beetles came. Two of the ten trees died. Early this morning an arborist stood in the cut de sac, peering up into the trees. He shook his head and said they needed to be removed.

An hour later, a crew descended upon the yard, armed with chainsaws, ropes and pulleys. By 1:30 in the afternoon, the shorter of the two trees was completely gone. In its place was a wide gap in the canopy, revealing the blue of the sky off to the west.

The loss of these friends brings me sorrow. The light in the garden is different. Even the cool, comforting shade has been altered forever. I’m sure the birds are confused. too.