Farmer Andrew came with his tractor-mounted machine and
trimmed my long boundary hedges yesterday evening. He’s taken it down a good
four feet, and this morning I watched the birds hopping about on top of the
greatly reduced hedge. Their body language was odd; they looked bemused; they
reminded me of the line from the song Bonny
Portmore, about the destruction of Irish woodland to make ships for the
Royal Navy:
All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep, saying
‘Where shall we shelter? Where shall we sleep?’
It isn’t quite that bad, but I still feel sorry for the
little guys.
2 comments:
Methinks you may enjoy this:
Winter Scene
"There is now not a single
leaf on the cherry tree:
except when the jay
plummets in, lights, and
in pure clarity, squalls:
then every branch
quivers and
breaks out in blue leaves."
-A.R. Ammons
Thank you, River. Ammons and I seem to share an interest, only he expresses it better than I do.
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