My neighborhood is not like every other one in town.
Each tree is planted in honor of a fallen loved one.
At the base of each tree is a bronze cross.
On each cross is engraved the name of a person who meant the world to someone.
A person who died too soon.
Person after person, continuing on for four miles.
On days like today,
my neighborhood gets a lot of visitors.
And, if they are like me, also wondering.
What if these lives had lasted just a little bit longer?
by julie rybarczyk