Well, they’ve sawed down all the trees. The shady spot where I sit to write my books… is gone. They haven’t cleaned up the mess yet, either, so there’s nowhere else to put my chair.
I’ve written 15 books, sitting there. I don’t write fiction indoors because a) it’s nuisance phone calls every few minutes, and b) it’s good for my soul to be out there with the birds and squirrels, grass and flowers and trees, God’s creation all around me. There’s no substitute for that.
Turning this place into a desert, one tree at a time… or, in this case, all at once.