Grief for a Sycamore Tree

“Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.”

– Kahlil Gibran

The Sycamore Gap Tree at Hadrian’s Wall in Northumberland is no more. One of the most photographed trees in the world, destroyed by an ignorant fool.

Brutally and callously felled.

A week has gone by with more questions, disbelief - who would ever think of doing such a cruel thing, why, why, why we cry, for there is no excuse to justify the crime.

And I grieve for a Sycamore tree. And I grieve for the waste, the hopelessness and the heart of evil in the world.

The solitary Sycamore has been there longer than computers, jets, mobile phones and wind farms. Before feature films and floating palaces. Before 9/11. Before plastic and Amazon. The landing on the moon, the two World Wars and Covid. The invention of the motor car, the sinking of the Titanic and long before me. Tree has survived seasons and stood proud, all alone beside the wall, offering comfort and shelter to all who passed by.

Bark and branches tell legendary tales of Romans and soldiers, of Tempests and snow, sharp and soft rain upon the boughs, the unfurling of Spring. It was there … to think, generations gone, and it was just there.

Image courtesy Brian Eyler.

Bloody hell, there is sap blood on the grass. The Sycamore Blood upon the soil.

And I am grieving a Sycamore tree which came to symbolise different things to different people - a place of solitude, lover’s kisses, the placing of ashes to say goodbye. Much photographed and painted, a film location. A symbol of the ethereal, resilience, permanence in an ever shifting world.

The coward must hide. The world is angry. Such innocence to be so violated. I wonder why I am so affected by the cutting of the Sycamore tree? Chainsaw to splitting cries of the innocent, the defenceless in an act of evil. The hurt is personal. I am frightened of the uncaring in the world.

I grieve for the Sycamore Gap Tree.

Header image courtesy of Mickledore Walking Holidays.