Cantata for Three Chainsaws

And even though I know it's just for today, and it's necessary, I'm worried. Scamp, our backyard rabbit is losing some of his hiding places. The birds are nowhere to be seen, and the squirrels have vamoosed for parts unknown.

It's the angry snarl of contrapuntal chainsaws that rips the air in our back yard this morning. Yes, we knew it was coming – they are clearing underbrush and small trees from the borders of the stream that runs through the area and eventually feeds into the Little Patuxent River and then to the Chesapeake Bay. They have to install some water control system and it will be better for all of us when it's done. Last year they met with homeowners and we walked the area as they explained what would be done and why. It all makes good sense. But oh, the noise!

Inside the house, Kira is hiding beneath my feet, and Pipsqueak has retired to the front of the house away from the noise. The robin parents who have been faithfully flying feeding missions to their nest under our deck are having trouble finding the right rafter to land on. Who knew that sound would disturb their directional system so? But after a few misdirections, they seem to have adapted and their two bobble-headed babies have their squirmy breakfasts.

I can see from my desk that three agile young men are clambering about, and already I have a clearer view of the townhomes behind us. Not that I want it, but there it is. I trust that they know what they are doing and will take only the necessary brush and trees away. But just in case, I'm keeping an eye on two of my favorite trees. And when they leave this afternoon, I'll be looking for Scamp and the squirrels who entertain Kira and me as we work.