Summer and the trees in my garden are over-growing like some sort of large fungus. As I write this, I have a big broccoli of a tree ready to collapse on my fence outside my window. An over hanging feeling. Branches and green vines of ivy tangle themselves over all the fences, walls and gutters. Over everything that is man made. In the brutal war of life, the trees are winning this battle no doubt.
Left to it’s own devices this garden will surely swallow me, strangle my family and smother my dogs. There is little room to swing a cat among the trees now. There is less and less light hitting my face because of the fertile, tangled greenery.
A service then, to push back the brutal nature. A team of men, perhaps, with keen tools to cut and hack and mow the wild forest until there is some sort of order created and restored. A quick, strong, efficient service that does what it says it will do. They could arrive in a pickup and leave not a trace of rubbish behind. They could take all the branches and remnants of murderous bush with them when they leave.