"Grama, we won't have a swinging tree anymore," Haylee said when she saw the ice-ladened tree sprawled all over the front lawn and listened to her daddy buzz-saw it in pieces.
"No, sweetie. We won't." An hour passed till she whispered again:
"Grama, we won't have a climbing tree anymore." She climbed up in my lap.
"No, sweetie. We won't."
"Abby and Brooklyn are going to be sad." She laid her head against me.
"Yes, they are."
"But, they'll remember, huh, Grama?"
"Yes, honey. They'll remember. And so will we." She snuggled deeper into my arms and whispered. "I'm gonna miss that tree, Grama." selahV
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