There’s a crane parked in my yard. I noticed this because I spent the last two hours tending the porch front, back, and stump plants. They say hello.
My green things are worse for the ware of my four day vacation. Though I watered everything before I left it was apparently not enough. I still hope for my ill maples to pull through. My herbs will still produce (the sage seems actually to have enjoyed the neglect).
I met the woman who’s in charge of citation and property inspection for my area. It turns out I’ve spoken with her on the phone several times. I pictured her as a pudgy office worker in k-mart clothing. She is, in reality, an athletic, older women who was dressed, today, in a militant set of all black police fatigues. It seems “officer” isn’t merely a title her department grants her, but rather that she is the police arm of a bureaucratic section. I’m glad I made a good impression.
The crane seems ominous. It’s parked too near my replacement maple. I don’t like its orientation, that toward a massive older maple that is one of the last grand trees of front street and the only tree left on the block that’s as tall as my house. It seems set to deforest the block in as few motions as possible.
New friend be damned, if they take down those trees, the city will feel it.