This old cottonwood was my subject a few times over the last week or so. Some of those captures were published here or other places. I commented a couple of times on Facebook about this tree, and posted an image or two.
Yesterday (Friday) morning The Girl and I walked early because I had a bunch of meetings. We did pause here or there for an image or to sniff or to pee or to just be. When we passed through the ranch compound I noticed a brush pile near the old cottonwood. As we approached, I saw tractor tracks.
I knew what that meant.
Sure enough, when we got closer, I saw the brushpile was the remnants of the green part of the old cottonwood. I noticed it was turning yellow and that meant nearing its end. I suppose it was in the irrigation ditch (the Mexican ditch) and the rancher cleaned it up.
That is the nature of things. We get old. We get broken. We die. Then someone comes along and cleans us up and returns us to the earth from which we came.
This broken old cottonwood hung on while it could. But it had to go. It was going anyway.
