Someone cut down my tree. It was a beautiful crepe myrtle that bloomed in the spring with fistfuls of confetti-white blossoms. I enjoyed the full branches as they wished me good morning while I ate breakfast. They sheltered my favorite cardinals close enough for me to see their beady black eyes looking at me. The tree was my shelter, too. Through spring and summer and early fall, we eat on our screened in porch where our open-armed tree gave us privacy. But someone cut it