Give Tom a pair of pruning shears, and he turns into
Edward Scissorhands at warp speed.
In our front yard there are two palm trees and one
live oak--or what’s left of them.
Tom gets antsy thinking about tropical waves and
possible hurricanes.
He has visions of the tree branches taking flight
through our windows, or damaging the roof tiles.
With intense determination, despite my pleas to
“Please leave something resembling a tree,” Tom
mercilessly attacks the branches.
There’s barely a branch left for a bird to land on…
There’s one tree left to massacre--a live oak,
which has been standing naked for 7 years,
imitating at being a tree.
I warn him that there’s a nest of birds
living in it--leave it alone.
Tom proceeds to nip a few branches around the nest.
Mama bird is hysterical, swooping and flapping
her wings at Tom.
She’s made it clear that he’s trespassing.
I ask him if he’d like to hose off his head…?
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