Goodbye, tree

Today outside my window a tree met an early death. Its sole crime was growing in such a way that the gate could not be opened inward, and vanity demanded that it do so. During its long life--for trees grow slowly upward and it must have taken years for it to reach such modest heights--it provided a lovely shade to the kitchen window. Mornings, when the fierce California sun beamed in through the east-facing panes, its small leaves tempered and softened the rays to make the kitchen cheery. In its absence, the sun blinds the hapless dishwasher standing at the sink exposed to the undeterred blaze.
My heart has a green tint, the result perhaps of formative years spent in western Oregon. The more trees, the better is my natural inclination and here in the dry valley so unlike the moist green land up north I shed a tear that one less tree stands to lend a modicum of relief to a sun-baked wanderer.

one ring at a time
steadily upward
you grew
defying gravity
and sandy soil
you clung
to nutrients
hard won
you fought
the long drought
and neighbor's scorn
you flourished
lending soft shade
to morning breakfast
you died
unthanked and unsung
relentless iron's victim