I'm Peculiar
A number of years ago, while writing the libretto for Peter, the Wolf, and Red Riding Hood (...'cause she's not so little anymore), I penned a poem for a quirky (like me!) friend of mine entitled "I'm Peculiar" (the poem's name, not my friend's). I had so much fun with it that I decided to include it in the musical as a duet sung by the characters (Peter's) Grandpa and (Red's) Mother. My talented collaborator composed the most intriguing music for it, which we published along with the play’s other songs and its full script on amazon.com. The lyrics of “I’m Peculiar” go something like this:

Elegy for a Tree
A dear, dear companion of mine was brutally and needlessly cut down this morning by ruthless assassins. I was rudely awakened in the wee hours by the insistent whining of their weapons just outside my bedroom window. When I opened the blinds to find the source of the loud noises, I watched with horror and profound sadness as limbs were cruelly hacked off and scattered to the ground. Thick, graceful branches that once provided shade, offered protection, and harbored many song birds and chirping squirrels – as well as their nests – were carelessly buzzed-sawed into chunks and then sliced and diced up for pulp.

For the past twelve years, the broad, green leaves of this tall, stately twin maple which grew between my house and that of a neighbor's shaded my home from brutal summer suns and guarded it from the piercing icy fingers of cold winter winds. Each autumn, I watched its leaves wane into brilliant beautiful oranges and reds; each winter, I admired the crystalline beauty of gossamer snow draped over its branches; each spring, as its first tentative buds began to appear, I cheered the beginning of spring. In the summer, I laughed at the antics of small animals harbored by and playing in its boughs. And, for these many years, it stately stood silent and proud outside my window – a symbol of strength, gracefulness, and divine creativity upon which I drew inspiration as I wrote.

Now, sadly, s/he is no longer here. Needless to say, I greatly miss my long-time companion. I grieve as I look out my window upon the now barren grassy knoll where the tree once grew. The early afternoon sun, no longer muted, now mercilessly shines in my eyes. Once safe and secure in their treetop homes, birds and squirrels, now homeless, are chattering and scurrying aimlessly on the ground, wondering what happened to their nests – the so-called woodsmen did not care enough – so intent they were on "getting the job done" – to even remove and/or relocate them. The animals, like me, are probably also wondering why?

I've lived with this tree literally – and companionably – by my side and there was nothing as far I could see really wrong with it. This morning, as the truck bearing its corpse slowly drove away, I made it a point to stand out on my balcony to inspect the trunk chunks. There were no signs of disease. Yes, moss grew on the north side of a few of its branches, but that’s what moss does, folks. But...this friendly maple just shy of 60 years did not warrant being so cruelly decimated. If left alone and properly tended to, it would have – should have stood proud and tall, braving the seasonal elements and providing shelter, oxygen, and privacy for perhaps yet another half a century.

Now there is nothing left of this once beautiful creature of Mother Nature except two raw, sap-seeping stumps – the tree was obviously still vibrantly alive when it was felled – and an unsightly massive pile of twigs and branches that probably won't be cleared away for another month or so. There is a huge vacancy in my side yard and a gaping hole in my own heart. And, to top it off, where once the tree provided privacy between homes, I can now clearly see into both my neighbors’ bathroom and bedroom windows – as I am sure they can now see into mine. And, knowing the “caretakers” of this development, I sincerely doubt they will ever have the heart or mindset to replace what took 60⁺ years for God to create and men (so called "paid professionals" who are really hired hit men) 60 minutes to destroy.

I don't understand the rhyme and reasons why people carry out such senseless acts and travesties again nature, against people. Why do people have to be so cruel and heartless? Why can't we just leave well enough alone and let people, animals, and, yes, even trees grow and be what they are/were intended to be? And, for goodness sakes, why don't people ask and/or think of the consequences before they act? Had I been consulted, I would have protested and figured our a way not to allow the tree to be cut down. But, then, again, who am I? And why should anyone care about what I have to say?

Which is precisely one of the questions posed in the multi-themed, many-genre, multi-plot layered historical mystery novel, The Hidden , by Jo Chumas. And while this narrative, set in Egypt in both 1919 and 1940, really doesn't have a tie-in with nature or with trees, it does bespeak of (wo)man's insensitivity and cruelty to (wo)man. I went out on a limb on this one, folks. My review is posted on www.authorexposure.com for your perusal.