word #6

armada

I roll over and blink hard. the alarm clock reads 10:00. the hum and whine outside my window has been going for awhile, i think, as I remember a picture of a weed whacker armada from a recent dream. in reality, it's a crew of five men, hardhatted, getting to work on the giant maple outside my window.

I went to bed at 8:00 this morning after working a double overnight. I don't know why it would shock me to see these chainsaw bandits outside at such an undecent hour, especially since I have to be back in at 3. Sleep is elusive these days, and jitters are the norm. I lay on my back and stare at the cobwebs, waiting for my eyes to slide closed again.

12:00 and the wood chipper starts. It sounds like a horror movie, and in my mind I can hear my tree screaming. There's no shade across my window now. It's lying in piles on my sidewalk, hulking beams with firm green leaves poking out.

The men are still chopping and grinding when I walk out to my car at 2:00. I look at them with disgust. That was the only tree within half a block of my house. Hearing my thoughts, one of the men yells out, "She was fixing to fall any day."

I thought about that, and I wondered who might come with hardhats to take me away in neat little piles of pieces of my former self. Who will be standing, watching in shame as they cart me off and load the trucks? Will they leave for work while I'm still on the sidewalk? Will they come home to find a mound of dirt where roots used to be?

Will they take me down before I fall? Or will they clean me up when I go down?

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