Wednesday, late morning middle of March
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The sun’s just popped out from behind the clouds
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There’s a cold breeze that doesn’t seem to be
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Coming from any particular direction
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I can hear ten times more birds
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Than I could yesterday
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And their chirping intensifies
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the breeze turns to a strangish wind
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Tickling the dozens of trees that surround me
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Making their branches bend and squeak and crack
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The sound of wood being chopped
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Behind the stone wall that separates my garden
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From the neighbors woke me in the early hours of the day
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Splitting wood and blocks hitting
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The inside of the metal wheel barrow over
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The fast plasticity rhythm of the chippers diesel engine
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The swinging of the axe ceases
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I can here two men talking
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I can’t grasp what they’re saying
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But I can tell that the first voice is desperate one
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Trembling with fear
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The other is dry and fierce
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Shaking with impatience
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Something else strikers me
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The neighbors dog
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An English setter with less brains
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Than an but more excitement
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Than a seven year old an Christmas eve
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And the jaw muscles of a fucking Great White
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Isn’t barking today
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First time in five years I haven’t heard that bastard hound
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I haven’t seen the garden’s wife either
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Usually at this time of day
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She would be feeding the ducks on the green
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Come to think of it
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I haven’t heard a single today either
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The wind and birds
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The splitting and engine sounds
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Fade out
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Come to a halt
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Utter silence between two heartbeats
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In the distance
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Sirens
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First time in five years I haven’t heard that bastard hound
|
I haven’t seen the garden’s wife either
|
Usually at this time of day
|
She would be feeding the ducks on the green
|
Come to think of it
|
I haven’t heard a single today either
|
The wind and birds
|
The splitting and engine sounds
|
Fade out
|
Come to a halt
|
Utter silence between two heartbeats
|
In the distance
|
Sirens
|
But I can tell that the first voice is desperate one
|
Trembling with fear
|
The swinging of the axe
|
The other is dry and fierce
|
Shaking with impatience |