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Off with their heads

May 4, 2012

Once every week or two, a small team of gardeners – although I’m not sure that is an accurate term – comes to the building I live in.  Perhaps they plant and/or care for the plants in the courtyard and along the driveway, but most, if not all, that they do is “trim” them.  I put the word trim in quotation marks because what they do seems to me to be a lot more than trimming.

I know when they’re here, because I hear their gas powered cutting tools, and I run around my small apartment quickly closing windows, before the gas fumes start coming in.

There are more plants in the courtyard than there used to be, and I have to give credit for this to the new owners, who, during the first 2 of the 3 years they’ve had the building, I did not like, for reasons I won’t go into here, although a huge rent increase didn’t make me affectionate.

Many of the plants in the courtyard are flowering shrubs, and they’re very pretty.  Beautiful even.  It’s wonderful to see the new leaves come up, create little bulb shaped sprouts, and those sprout into tiny little flowers of great intricacy.  It’s magical.

Then the gardeners come and with power tools, slice off the top of all these plants, eliminating all the small flowers, eliminating all the new, vibrant green leaves, and cutting the plant back to a flat topped height that a bureaucrat, or perhaps a fascist could love.  And breaking my heart in a small way.  All, I suppose, in the name of order.  No rambunctious plants here, by golly.

Then the plants start growing again, bless their little hearts, and soon there are more beautiful little flowers, awaiting the executioner’s axe.


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