48X36, oil on linen, 2014
Mr. Rogachefsky was an old man who lived across the street from us. He had a lovely apple tree nestling against his house. He told the neighbors we were welcome to all the apples we wanted. I took him at his word.
He went into assisted living several years ago. His house sat vacant until last Christmas, when a flurry of contractors descended. Their first act was to yank the foundation plantings and cut down that beautiful tree, still covered with the last of autumn’s fruit.
“All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers, and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever.”
We know that intellectually, but it’s still a shock when the chainsaw comes out.