Just got back from a neighborhood clean up day during which we cut down, rough guesstimate, somewhere between twenty and two-billion trees (among other sundry chores). I myself only took part in bringing down four, though I helped haul at least eight. Trying to remember… it’s strange, but I don’t recall any of the trees actually landing on me. That’s peculiar, as it certainly feels like it.

I note with pride that we didn’t destroy any houses, garages, carports, doghouses, swing sets, fences—not even a flower bed. One monster poplar (the dumb thing snapped one rope and took eight of us to pull away from the fence line) did put a nice trench in the lawn when it cratered to earth. You can then imagine what it was like to haul all the sections of these trees away to dumpsters.

I have decided that I’m quite glad I am not a horse, ox, mule, donkey, camel, llama, or any other beast of burden. Except an elephant. It would have really helped to be an elephant today.

But I am not an elephant, and I am sore, as I am a whiner. So rather than afflict you all with more complaints, I think I’ll soak in the bath for a week. I might even take off these clothes.

Might.