Recently I was out for a walk, hoping to track down an ice cream cone to fulfill a craving. As I wandered around listening for the tasty jingle of the ice cream truck, I came across a strange situation:
Normally I ignore these strange situations, my ice cream craving was certainly pushing me to do the same this time, however something just wouldn’t let me pass by this tree.
I realized it was a nagging guilt over Arbor Day. I never celebrated Arbor Day before, not once my whole life, and the world seemed to be calling me out on this point. I should have seen this coming with the recent deluge of Arbor Day donation emails, but sometimes I’m a bit thick. So, I figured I should do something to set things right and make up for all the un-celebrated Arbor Days passed.
Plus, I hoped the good karma might bring me closer to the elusive ice cream truck. You just never know.
I asked the poor topless tree where it’s missing part had gone, and it gave a limited response: silence. I assumed the missing top must have been where the tree’s vocal cords were located. In any case, to relieve my guilt-riddled stomach, I set out on a search for the treetop.
I was down the block when I thought it might be a good idea to ask for some help. What looked like a morning dove landed nearby, so I approached the nice feathered friend for some advice. It seemed sensible that the bird might have seen something as people are always talking about things from their point of view. Apparently, you can see a great deal from a bird’s eye.
Unfortunately for me, it was mid-afternoon. While I do speak morning dove rather well, trying to understand the mid-afternoon dove dialect is like trying to talk to a palm tree. You just don’t get very far.
My feathered friend was persistent about – I think – something to do with a bird bath whirlpool and a pending patent. As I know very little about patent law, I ditched the fowl post-haste.
A few blocks later, my treetop search was no better off. Neither was my stomach. The craving was growling like a beast in my belly, and I thought I heard the sweet tunes of the ice cream truck just ahead. I made a sprint for it.
As I rounded the corner, I came across my second Arbor Day terror:
And the dying tree called out to me in a whisper.
To be continued…