The Persimmon Tree

When I was a child—age 7-13
our house was shaded by
a tall persimmon tree
and from our back porch 
I could catch a low-hanging limb
and climb the tree and
see over the roof of our house
to get a view of the neighborhood.

I loved that tree. 
In the summer it was
a retreat from the heat
of our house, and
I enjoyed all I could see
from its upper branches.

The tree produced persimmons
by the bushel, falling
in late summer to cover
our back yard. We raked them
out of the yard and across
the driveway to the
yard’s edge—piles of 
inedible fermenting fruit.

I had not seen the
house and the tree for
years, and I drove over
to see it. 

There was the house
and the persimmon 
tree and by the driveway
a line of young trees
produced by the persimmons
raked from our yard.

Several years after this
I visited the place again.
This time the house was gone

It was paved over by
a parking lot.

The lot is now a suburban heat island
which can raise temperatures
by 2-3 degrees Celsius. Then it is
filled with automobiles that burn
petroleum and produce carbon 
that contributes to global warming.
The pavement of the lot collects
oil and other contaminants that
flow into nearby streams.

And to create the parking lot
the large persimmon tree and its
offspring in the small forest
by the driveway were cut down—
a destruction of plants that
produce the oxygen we breathe.

In my mind I climb once again
to the top of the persimmon tree
and grieve over its destruction.

And up there I wonder, 

“Am I in any way 
planting something 
to redeem what 
has been sacrificed
for this parking lot?”