Timber

 

I love trees. I think trees know that I love them. Still, one had to be trimmed, and the tree fought back. Two chirping birds landed in the leaves above my head. It’s like the tree had lobbyists or flying spokes-feathers. Maybe they were sent to warn me. Or a nest?

I’m on a hill with a hand saw, the branch gives way, grazing my face, nicking my hand and bruising my chest. Of course, I saw stars for about an hour. My only excuse, “I thought it would fall the other direction.” The worse parts were tongue lashings from family and friends.

“NO”, they said. “You could have killed yourself. Never again”, they said. “What if you were knocked onto the cement at the bottom of the hill?” All right, I capitulate. A friend brought over hydrogen peroxide and Band-Aids. I’ve been through worse, and I’m sure I’ll live. I love trees. Let them grow. Sorry little birds.