There are few things more diffiicult to deal with than waiting. It doesn't really matter what for; a train to depart (what else do you say when you've already said all your good-byes?), visitors (everything's ready, no time to read a book or do the crossword), another rejection slip, someone to fix the computer (you can't even use the internet) or, as today, a man to cut down a tree.
We only have one tree in our little courtyard, and I was proud of it (if you saw the size of the courtyard, you'd understand why) and it's dead. It had its annual haircut about a month ago, said (something like)"I'm just too old for this kind of abuse", and died. The sparrows and blackbirds sit in it and chitter, and two clematis grow up it (we have to maximise the potential of what space we have), and it provides some shade. And it's a tree. I shall miss it.
This post has changed from waiting to trees, but that's blogs. Steve (the tree man) is now halfway through, the place is a mess, and I daren't watch because of all the plants that are being flattened by falling branches (I always have the illogical feeling that if I'm not actually watching, bad things aren't happening. Examples include free range children, and our delightful but inexpert Eastern Eurpopean window cleaners).
So now I'm back to waiting. To see what everything looks like when Steve has done his thing. And whether I can bear it.
(The man in the picture isn't Steve, and the tree isn't our tree. But then you knew that.)
