I’d pass the throne on my usual walk home, but somehow, I only really noticed it at night, stumbling home alone or with friends who lived nearby. Perhaps it was once a grand tree, and then a grand stump, from which someone had carved a giant seat. Bubbling from a recent darts victory, some of us would climb up into it and stare out at the somewhat disappointing view of its kingdom: the little patch of grass next to the dog park. Although it could almost accommodate two people sitting cheek-to-cheek, the throne wasn’t particularly comfortable, and within a few sobering seconds, we would hop off for fear of termite infestation.
Still, the throne was a regal landmark, and when I would see anyone trying it on for size, it always made me smile. On a recent walk-by, I noticed that the throne was missing, with some apologetic gravel and safety cones in its place. I was shocked by its absence, but then I remembered that in recent months, it had appeared tired and rotted. Few people dared to clamber up its little steps into its seat anymore. So much for the throne. I’m hoping for a new tree.