The Wall

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“What a dear old wall that is that runs along by the river there! I never pass it without feeling better for the sight of it. Such a mellow, bright, sweet old wall; what a charming picture it would make, with the lichen creeping here, and the moss growing there, a shy young vine peeping over the top at this spot, to see what is going on upon the busy river, and the sober old ivy clustering a little farther down! There are fifty shades and tints and hues in every ten yards of that old wall. . . . It looks so peaceful and so quiet, and it is such a dear old place to ramble round in the early morning before many people are about.” Jerome K. Jerome, “Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)” Ch. 6 (1889)

Timber-errrrr!

Anyone who has witnessed
the felling of a tall tree is left
with the definitive feeling of sadness.

As the saw rips through the heart of the giant,
it begins to sag down
on the side where the wound is gaping.

The tree begins to lean
away from the cutters,
but they continue their work--just a moment longer.

Then come the sounds:
the crack, crack, cracking of the wood fibers
in front of the saw teeth.

Another pass of the saw,
and the popping noise increases!
Those sounds! More rapid, then a continuous roar!

If you were standing nearby
you suddenly realize that everything above
is coming to earth.

The great mass starts to topple,
the popping and crackling and exploding sounds
burst from the base until with a fearful momentum,

the whole tree comes sprawling down.

Sometimes, we see a man come down like that.
He had stood out, so apparently strong before the entire world,
but the sappers were at his heart.

The supports were cut from under him
until he came crashing down
to the ground.

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