Monday, March 22, 2010

Sparrows cussing like sailors

After their hibernation since last Thursday even my muscles enjoy a glorious soreness. It's good that spring comes! Still, I am glad - and I think my muscles are, too - that I decided to cut the fruit-trees in late autumn, as shortening parts of ...
... the hazels (one girl, one boy) and ...

one jasmine (the left one is an elder) ...

... by about 2,5-3 three metres was enough for a beginning, as - old sportsman's spirit - I don't use a motor-saw.

Cutting the jasmine I had been hesitating for five years. However, now it had to be done, although bad conscience was upon me; and not wrongly.
The longer I was busy with the jasmine, the more little visitors I got. They sat down on one of the few long branches which were left, and although I do not speak Sparrowish fluently, I knew the little fellows were cussing like sailors that, at least for a while, they will have to find another sleep-tree.
Which is why - to make up for -, immediately after my outrage, on the other side of Seanhenge I planted ...

... voilĂ : Seanwood Forest.

5 comments:

  1. A grand solution to remorse:
    To plant the roots of Seanwood Forest.

    I'm sure the sparrows won't take it too personally. They will just have to find comfortable new perches for a while.

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  2. Sean, if you are talking about gardening and taking photos of your work, then spring is definitely in the air...

    I am looking forward to your blossoms soon...

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  3. Your very poetic Seanwood Forest might
    (I accentuate:might) grant you forgiveness.

    Certainly was amusing to read your post the day Laudator Temporis Acti offered a poem of Ronsard, starting:

    Stay, woodsman, stay thy hand awhile and hark
    It is not tree thou art laying low!
    Does thou not see the dripping life-blood flow
    From Nymphs that lived beneath the rigid bark?
    *

    The last two lines, in beautiful old French Ronsard:

    Ne vois-tu pas le sang lequel degoute a force
    Des Nymphes qui vivoient dessous la dure escorce?


    Not to worry, dear, dear Sean. I'll talk to the Nymphs in your favour.

    *P.S. The whole poem is powerful and truly worth reading.

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  4. In case nobody go and read the fascinating post I mentioned, I should clarify that Ronsard was crying the death of a whole forest (not just 2-3 trees.) It had been sold by a French King to pay for his debts.

    The King did not repent, and did not create another beautiful forest like yours, Sean. The Nymphs are very happy with you.

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  5. Stan,
    I have to confess that Seanwood Forest meanwhile went the way of all recently cut branches - up to the highest spot of the village where next week they will contribute to gorgeousness of the Easter fire.
    Nevertheless, the little fellows meanwhile, indeed, seem not to bear anymore grudges - the took their domicil in the elder.

    Nevin,
    your words in nature's ears! I think latest around Easter some blossoms will be ready for pleasing your eyes.


    Claudia,
    you are very kind to putting in a good word for me.
    Now am I not Dafydd ap Gwilym, but I'd like to know what the nymphe would do let I play my charme ...

    Re Laudator Temporis Actis and Ronsard: I had read the poem earlier, and found the simultaneousness of the dissimilarity amusing.

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