I think you vocalize just fine, after all, as the saying goes, if we're all thinking alike then someone's not thinking. A tad coincidental that I discover your reply while in the midst of rereading Ambrose Bierce's truly surreal and brilliant civil war classic, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, (A seriously recommended short story that can easily be found online due to its age) so your interpretation assimilates itself rather effortlessly.
I have always found downed trees to be of the most tragic deaths due to their tenacity: Once in late winter, in Sandy Springs, Georgia, I saw a young leafless tree fifteen feet or so tall with its 18-20 inch circumference trunk split by a vehicle already towed from the scene. There was still plenty of debris from the car and the tree (I wish I knew the species) still barely stood, its ill countenance frozen in a fall lower than 45 degrees but higher than 90. Indeed, the heart of its trunk was shattered enough to peer right through it and without leaves yet in the season there was an added 'shock of death' look to the scene. Moreover, I incredulously sensed a lowly diminishing spark still within the all but dead thing. I kept an eye on it in passing for two to three days a week, wanting to help but not quite knowing what to do, expecting eventually a stump left by workers. I grew a distant shadow at the situation and found myself avoiding that part of the street, but still thought of it almost every night. (Which alarmed me a little.)
About twenty faintly guilt ridden days passed. I decided to go visit what surely must be a stump by now but as I approached on foot at a distance too great for full acknowledgment, I noticed oddly that no one had cut it down. It was now early spring and far away details became more evident with each quarter block I completed. Something had happened. Had it been removed and replaced with a huddle of bought saplings? Finally, I was close enough and glad it was mercifully replaced but then as I neared even closer, I saw the very same and maimed specimen looking back at me fully adorned with blossoming yellow flowers and tender shoots! Such was the abundance of its greenhouse halo that the exploded trunk was covered and unseen within the fanfare. I think my mouth soundlessly opened and I took my time but eventually waded closer to touch the life spawning limbs (being a very young man) where I opened my mind to an amazing and quite enchanting presence.
It still remains one of the most inspiring things I have ever seen. (Alas before my interest in photography.)
Thank you, Mr. Sperry, for your comments as they spurred quite a memory.