by Zoe Pollock
Bonnie Alter has found a nice epitaph for the death of the long-sick chestnut tree outside Anne Frank's attic, which finally fell this week under heavy winds. From Anne's own diary in February of 1944:
Nearly every morning I go to the attic to blow the stuffy air out of my lungs. From my favorite spot on the floor I look up at the blue sky and the bare chestnut tree, on whose branches little raindrops shine, appearing like silver, and at the seagulls and other birds as they glide on the wind. As long as this exists, ... and I may live to see it, this sunshine, the cloudless skies - while this lasts I cannot be unhappy.