The tree was the only green in a cityscape of orange. Its silhouette had been there on the horizon long before I was born. Despite the urbanization of the past 400 years, it had still managed to find a home in between the abandoned pipes and buildings - its roots carving into every nook and cranny that wasn’t already taken. It was always fighting back, raging against the civilization around it.

I remember when the tree was still free and people used to visit it for fun in their spare time. However, the government, tired of all the complaints from neighboring apartments about the structural damage, sold it to one of the wealthiest trillionaires. The trillionaire claimed that he was the only one who had the resources to protect it. He claimed that it was priceless. 500 million dollars and two years later we all learned that was a lie - nobody was surprised.

Through the years things have gotten worse, old problems have intensified and new ones created. Old folks like me used to go to that tree a lot - even after it was bought - as a place of sanctuary. It’s not what it used to be but it is still growing strong regardless of the hardships. We look up to it as a sign that if it can make it through this changing world so can we.

On the day scheduled for its removal, we all gathered around to mourn its death. Packed together - but isolated by our masks - we stood looking and wondering what was next to come. I prayed that this wouldn’t mean anything and tried to convince myself that this was just one more tree to die - just like the others. But as the helicopters lifted out the tree to reveal a core rotting from chemicals and runoff, I realized that the world would never be the same.