The days aren’t wasted watching the birds.

Splashing in their bath.

Eating at the feeder.

I even have a few different species nested in the old elm out front.

Hundred and thirty years old if a day.

After we’re all dead and gone, it’ll remain.

I eat my meals outside with the birds.

It’s nice to have company, you know.

I sit at my table on the patio drinking my tea.

I hate my neighbors and their damn dogs.

Everyone is always interrupting my birds.

Especially those hell hounds.

A roar grows closer and closer.

Crash! Glass goes flying, metal grotesquely contorts and screams.

That son of a bitch just crashed his Chrysler into my damn tree.

Should I go help?

The horn won’t cease, as the engines smoke billows towards the nests.

I go wake the man up, blood freely flowing from his forehead.

" Hey, do me a favor and turn the car off,man. Don’t want you to burn my tree down,” I say to the bloodied man weary in his drivers seat.

I walk back to my porch.

Finally back to my tea and sandwich, listening to the birds.

Good thing that tree has some strong roots.