I am sitting, nay recumbent, on the sofa on a Sunday morning. I've been up since half seven, in spite of longing for a lie-in, and I'm trawling my interwebs, filling the dishwasher, feeding the fire its logs, and so on...
Suddenly, (I've never been able to say or write 'all of a sudden', since a belovedly Bohemian English teacher of mine, a throwback to the fabulously hippy Sixties, hell she even had a cigarette holder!), said 'Whenever one hears 'all of a sudden', one always thinks 'a big black puddin' came flying through the air!')... Suddenly I am startled from my zombie-like reveries by the whirring and whining of a chainsaw. Peering through the frosty morning, I am not wholly surprised to find two neighbours steadily dismantling a tree in my garden.
Am I alone in wondering, I wonder, whether a partner is supposed to communicate such things to his
Yes, he's been whining and whinging like the chainsaw for a while about the tree. About a year, in fact. Not that I've noticed. Much. Yes, it interferes with our otherwise uninterrupted view of the hills. Yes, it blocks our way up the garden path. A bit. And, admittedly, it was growing terribly close to the telephone wires that lead to all 17 houses that form our neighbours in the top half of the terrace (we're in the middle. -Ish).
But the last straw for the tree came yesterday, when our neighbours' new kitty, Pepper, decided it was an ideal vantage point from which to spy and snare young birds. We used to have cats as pets. I grew to love them and now I miss them dearly. But going all snacky-snacky on young birds was 'Verboten'. As much as you can ever verbote cats not to trap birds...
Sample bird commonly seen in Fhina's garden. (NB: No birds were harmed during the writing of this blog).
So, as much as I liked to see the green leaves blowing gently in light breezes, and as much as I hate to cut down any living thing, the tree's days were numbered. Its time was up. It was soon to be an ex-tree. And as much as I thought I could replicate Owly, a wooden sculpture which I blogged about earlier, within the tree, it was far too skinny to do so, when I looked at it realistically.
And now the chainsaw has ceased its whirr, I have had my lazy bath and have managed not to flash the neighbours cutting down the tree, when I shimmied out of the bath-towel in my bedroom which overlooks the garden.
And here I am once again gazing out of the window. This time at a patch of blue sky with a frosty, but fluffy, white cloud skimming across it on this golden autumnal morning. The tree is no more. It has ceased to be. But wonders never cease. The sun is shining, and I am amazed at the symmetry once again restored to the garden's outlook, where once there was only untidy tree in sight. Now the green-golden-copper beech hedge, split in twain by the garden gate, can yawn without interruption. The gateway is more clear. I can see the road and the hills beyond.
I live and breathe. Sadly, the tree does no longer. I think the tree was a bit of a metaphor for how stuck I've been. How hard I find it to let things go.
How good is/are your partner(s) at communicating, I wonder, mes bloggy chums? Do you take the rough with the smooth. Is your communication with one another a bit like the tree of life, with lumps and bumps along the way, or does it flow like a river-stream under shady willows?
Do you still experience surprises, sometimes on a daily basis like I do? What are your expectations of them?
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