A low rumble vibrates the building as tree-trimmers buzz their way through Bradford Pear limbs—the extreme version of “nip it in the bud”. There will be at least one less large branch to blossom in the spring, yet the concern that Bradford Pears’ notoriously brittle branches when laden with ice or snow will fall on a car or person is valid.
Meanwhile we’re barricaded by the branch, fallen across the sidewalk—but yes, I remember there is another outlet…I just went outside to check it, but no, it’s blocked as well. So I’m praying for the safety of the trimmers in their mechanical buckets, and that I don’t have an emergency that requires me to get out quickly--I could though, eventually climb through the branches.
Now the grinding—the pulverizing, begins; branches spew out as “mulch” into the waiting truck.
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