I bought a new tree

Over the summer one of our backyard trees got hit by lightning. The bolt blasted the bark off of half the trunk, scattering it everywhere in huge fragments. The tree should have died by now but it hasn't. It still might. I worry with every windy day that it will fall over onto my roof. She is a big tree, an old white ash and a few of her sisters are close by, not as grand, not presiding over the yard as this one does. The tree is technically on city property so it is their job to remove it as they wish. There is a work order in place. A small crew even showed up a couple of weeks ago, but since the tree was not marked (a decision made by the arborist who thought the job was so urgent he wouldn't bother marking it) they walked away, confused and not wanting to take down the wrong tree. I haven't seen them since, but I know they will return.
The thing is, I don't want them to. My breath caught when I saw them pull up that time, certain that it was time for the tree to go. I didn't want it to go. I wanted to take my chances with the elements, give it (me?) a bit more time. I hid inside behind the curtains so they wouldn't get the idea to knock on the door asking if indeed this was the tree. I called my friend to commiserate and prepare for the sound of chainsaws. But they left and she received her stay of execution.
I want to be there when she does come down. I need to tell the crew-please be careful, there are many animals and birds living in that tree. My daughter's swing is being held sturdily by that lowest branch (still too high to reach with a ladder, R had to climb the ladder, then climb the tree to hang the rope). I watch her branches blow in the breeze from the skylight above my bed and I know what kind of day it will be. I know spring from fall, sun from snow courtesy of her leaves. I do my yoga facing that tree, a modern nod to an ancient form of prayer.

I bought a new tree yesterday. A beautiful weeping birch, tall and sturdy with beautiful tan bark-like a buckskin coloured horse. She will go at the other end of the yard-a perfect bookend to the cedars in the other corner. She will grow in the sunlight that will flood in when my big white ash is gone. I will plant it tomorrow when the rain is gone.