The Passing of a Giant, Part II: After

Outrage!  The humans weren’t kidding about my not helping with the tree-felling.  I am not allowed to blast the tree out existence.  I am not allowed to run the blue spider machine.  I am not even allowed to touch the chainsaw.

No.  So greatly do they fear my involvement and my magic that I have been imprisoned for the duration of the process, confined in a wintry wasteland.

timeout

Don’t blame me if there’s not as much cinnamon left when next you decide to pig out.

The human female has not been watching the process, knowing that she would likely blubber like an infant the whole while.  She can moan and beat her breast all she likes, as she is inaudible here among the frozen confections.

(later)  I have been released from my icy duress.  The chainsaws have now stopped, as has the noise of scraping and sweeping of debris.   Time to go out and survey the results.

The tree has been mostly cut down–there is a six-foot stump that is somewhat hidden among a cluster of smaller saplings that surely would have been destroyed had the old behemoth been cut at ground level.  As it is, the stump will perhaps provide habitat for insects that birds will like, and the next generation of trees is undisturbed.  All that remains is for the human female to pull down about sixty yards of grapevines that no longer have a place to clamber.  Driveway jam is a thing of the past.

Let us have a moment of silence for the passing of this giant…  Sic transit gloria arboris.

after0-5

The dismembered corpse makes quite a pile at the curb.

after1

It’s very sobering, but I’m enjoying the last laugh. Today was brush and bulky pickup day, but I induced the collectors to skip the wreckage.  The human female will have to pass this damning pile every day on her way out of the house for at least another week!  Let the mourning and songs of failure continue!

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3 comments

    1. I find that leaving a bare scraping ’round the edges of the bottom (a teaspoon or so) is more insulting than finishing it all and disposing of the carton. “Hey, look! We have ice cream! Oh. Not so much…” As I said, the humans are going to find considerably less Vietnamese cinnamon than they had before my confinement. Actually, other than the ignominy of not being allowed to participated in the wholesale destruction of the arboricide victim, it’s not so bad in here. Outside temperatures have surpassed 100F, so it is rather pleasant. I wish I’d had a chance to grab a book, though. I can magic the light on, but I tire of reading “milk, cream, eggs, vanilla” over and over.

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