Hey, plant a tree!

'Tis the season for the felling of the elms here in the summery metropolis. Bands of tree doctors roam the avenues and boulevards, looking for sickly elms whose crowns are withering--the work of the busily nasty Dutch Elm disease spreading beetle. The most dire cases get marked for death with a florescent orange band, and the bands of banders send roves of tree fellers to do the sad and dirty work of the felling. Look throughout the city for the equally florescent orange street cones, a sure sign that the tree fellers are about. First comes the felling, then the wood chipping, then the stump crunching, after which shade is merely a memory.

In honor of shade and the grand elms that have been felled, as well as those that remain, the Dickinsonian oracle proclaims:

Gathered into the Earth,
And out of story -
Gathered to that strange Fame -
That lonesome Glory
That hath no omen here - but Awe -
(E. Dickinson, 1398)

So hey, plant a tree.