The Big Oak

The Big Oak

The horizon is getting deadly wider. Monday afternoon, the music plays.

People are outside, some watching, other doing it. They all seem focused and happy with the idea of cutting down these trees.

There is a collective feeling of duty being achieved with the fall of the big oak. As if their wives, on return home, would sheer them up on the accomplished task, were they not there, too!

fantasizing

From the attic, I listen to the sound of a tractor, a chainsaw and a machete. They all seem to call on the valley together. Gets difficult to concentrate on the Fall's Allegro, while years of geometric recording are being ignominiously reduced to sawdust

very fast

the remnants are whittled to the proper size and shared between neighbours, as harvested grapes.

But I

want my birds back, I want the whispering silhouette of her canopy joining me by the full moon. Who shall now prevent the morning fog from escaping too soon or the sun from falling harsh on the walls and walks.

, a cricket's breeze blowing sets the end

The four seasons are over

the chainsaw goes on

and on

and on

and

on

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho