A vibration in my gut made by the revving of a chainsaw woke me so rudely that I refused to get out of bed. The limb that broke off in the storm a few weeks ago lay hanging in the balance until this morning. When I did finally get up, the tree trimmers had already cut off most of the dead branches from our giant tree out back.


I sort of loved that darn tree, the way it was all bushy and wild. Now so stark and sterile. I hated seeing all the branches carted away, even the dying ones, dragged through the house to the front where the wood chipper grinded and pulverised them to oblivion. I admire a nice garden, I guess. The tree seems even taller now and perhaps will finally get a decent drink of water. It's all about the tree.

My neighbor got right to putting up lights and getting the space in order. I hate order. Sometimes.
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Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?