What we named her, (of course) her,
when my brother Victor gifted this birch
forty years ago for our new house warming.
I wasn’t much into planting, but Vic
had green hands as well as thumbs
and blessed us with this sapling,
about the same height as our young daughter.
Victory grew massive as she was destined,
overspreading our yard with birds,
shade, green stalwart comfort, Fall palette.
Shielded us from the annoying sun
when grill and wine were summer.
Once our cat hid in her upper
branches overnight, making us
think he was lost, but our tree
found and harbored him.
Victory aged, went into growth retirement—
like we are now—and died,
had to come down—today.
We held hands over her stump,
reminds us our children
will one day spread our ashes.
Originally published in Spindrift Magazine