One of the things I liked about Oxford was the abundance of old trees, especially since one of the drawbacks of this desert I call home is not enough trees.
And there are even fewer trees today than when I came home on Thursday. Three trees in the back yard lost their lives over the weekend to accommodate a sort of room addition thing going on at my house (disclaimer: people are, granted, more important than trees, and it's kind of nice for them to have room for themselves and any guests who happen to drop in; bigger kitchens are good, too).
Then today the tree trimmers came from the county and reduced the two front yard trees to mere skeletons of their old selves. Evil tree trimmers. I don't know where the birds moved to. Poor birds.
So I am adjusting to my new view (the one without [most of] the front yard trees). Turns out that the trees very graciously used to mask the power lines across the street and the neighbor's TV antenna. They were nice trees; they really were.
::sigh::
2 comments:
I cried when my Dad bulldozed some old trees just because they were dying and an eyesore.
I ran into someone in Canterbury who suggested that each person in the world has a tree that they are inexplicably linked to, like a soulmate. I've been wondering what would happen if said tree were cut down, I think I might write about it someday.
Actually, my parents planted a tree for me when I turned a year old.
It died. And I lived to tell the story.
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