The Little Linden Tree

 The other day, I stepped outside and looked around — and my heart sank.

 

The young linden across the street from my house was  broken. I’d planted it a few years ago. It had been snapped so many times, but a sprout left in the ground would stubbornly reach for the sun. I’d tied it to a stick to protect it from passersby and to make sure they noticed it. I watered it during scorching heat. The linden was growing…

 

But then, someone decided to build a car wash not far from my house. A dump truck pulled up, full of gravel. The driver, without so much as a glance, plowed right over the spot where the linden was growing. He broke it off at the root and crushed it into the mud.

 

I crouched down beside the broken linden. Tears started streaming down my face. Tears of anger, frustration, helplessness, and injustice. Why do they break us like this?

 

No. I DON’T want to live on this street anymore. I don’t want to live in this city. In this country. But . . . where else can I go?