I had a favorite tree in Prospect Park. Its twisting and undulating trunk looked like a wise serpent rising from the grass. And every autumn its leaves would ignite with reds and yellows before all other trees, as if anxious to reveal its true colors. I'd soak up its brilliance as I passed by on morning jogs.

The other day I returned to draw my favorite tree only to find that it had been chopped down. All that was left was a stump surrounded by long blades of grass bobbing in the cool breeze. I couldn't understand why had it been removed. Didn't others see how beatifully odd it was? Perhaps it was already on its way out or damaged in a storm. 

Realizing I must capture the small things in life before they're gone, I began to sketch.