George Washington type guilt

I look outside at the soon-to-be grassy strip by the curb and I see a tree stump. A few months ago a tall tree lived its full and glorious life there, giving shade and cool summer comfort to the world below its broad canopy of branches. The tree is gone and it is my fault. I asked the city to chop it down. I thought it was dying and I hated to see its yearly decline – each spring, more brittle branches, fewer leaves, less beautifully displayed.

The question is, if I had the tree killed, what will I do to my dog or my neighbor, to say nothing of those closer to me once they show signs of wear and tear? What happened to the idea of sticking by those who have grown old before you, who are there to share their wisdom and counsel and shade?

The city will plant a new tree come spring, but it wont be the same. The old one is gone and it is my fault. Move over in the guilt line, George.