Thursday, March 27, 2014
Yo, my peeps!
Does anyone even SAY that any more?
Doesn't matter, I just did, and I'm leaving it as it's a wicked (dun dun DUUUUUN!) foreshadowing of the topic of this entry.
DID YOU GUESS 'BIRDS'?
This is, in fact, about birds!
But why birds? Why not something interesting, like a recipe or the proper way to iron a placketed shirt?
Here's why - I'm thinking of cutting down trees.
Trees that house some very speciala guests: my peeps. My cutie-pie adorable little peeps, who at dusk every evening set up a fluttery chorus of 'peep, peep, peep!' for about 10 minutes, until the day goes blue and presumably that's their bedtime.
Two months ago they were peeping at 5:30, not they peep at 7:30. But they are faithful to peep every day (kind of like these little guys at about 1 minute in) and it cheers me up tremendously.
But they live in an overly tall hedge of Leyland Cypress that are going bald at the bottom and thinning through the middle (interestingly, normally as one ages those things happen exactly oppositely!). Those trees are not looking so hot at present, and if the tree guy says they can't be saved, well then they might just have to go. They're there, after all, to off some privacy, and when I can SEE the preschool next door through the branches, it's obvious that that whole privacy thing is not really working so great.
Important to keep in mind here: as implied above, if I cut down the trees, the peeps will have no place to perch to peep, and I might lose my little buddies who I really do love. THEY ARE SO CHEERY!!
What to do? Do I let the trees just die slowly, providing housing for the wee peepers, or do I do the unthinkable and chop down the trees with their peeply lil' birdies (and, presumably at this time of year, their birdie babies?
Oh, I just went there with the babies thing.
A new level of pathos unfolds.
No. NO. I can't do it. I can't cut down the trees! Not with chickie-chickie-babies as a potential collateral damage point.
Keep in mind - THEY'RE CHEERY.