The trees smell short fall and winter days in the longest days of the beginning of summer, in the summer solstice, at the end of June. Then the day begins to stop and, knowing what is coming to them, they take the work of several months to prepare for the dream of short days. Summer days will accumulate the largest number of reservations. If they bring fruits, they will try to dress them with the best smells, colors and shapes, and attract them to the diners who have to grow the seeds inside. These seeds will be cooked as fat as possible (filling them with food) and protected (wrapping surfaces well) to enable them for a surprising trip until the onset of new pain or trees. They will also unravel and assimilate the amount of food they contain in their leaves to dissipate as little energy as possible, totalling reserves. When the leaves cannot be kept longer, they retreat with a wound similar to that of the fall of the branch, and the fallen trees in the gallows, the indoctrinating submissive ones, exhort them the last amplo: that they stop in the land of the roots that they have continually fed, because when they are nested, they will take away the cold of winter and, when they are rotten, they will be the food of the mother of spring. Circular: And the leaves will close their wounds. Subsequently, the eyes that open in outbreaks and flowers for next year will be fortified with protective scales to prevent frosts and sharp ice creams from stabbing them. And to sleep, to cry, like a bear in the cave or a field lily in the short beech hole (Fagus sylvatica) or in the slot of the garden bat. To winter, to calm and to calm the intense spring-summer pass.

In this calmness we start the motor saws and the chainsaws, sharpen the scissors and give entrances to the shredders and the serrotes. Calmly, the irons of the irons: war. And the trees slept.

Pruning season is already here. Today, in November, the war begins with the cutters who look like warriors. A war that would bend the instinct of the trees and bind them to the shape and size they wanted. And they use the same reasoning as all wars and shake them to the seven winds: it is for the good of all; we are taking care of your safety; we know, leave us in our hands, you quiet. And, as in all wars, we are all defeated. Those who win in wars are the ones who always win. The basis is fear, a petty fear: the leaves dirty the streets.

Less bad, for the trees to return more quickly to the damage, if the mozos waited at the right time for the court or the trial, to the judge, to the moon of the sentences, to March...