Margaret replaced her life of hermetic reclusion for eccentric extroversion after surviving a brain tumour about a decade ago. Having a plethora of free time and unfiltered opinions, she was the first neighbour to complain about our Honey Locust tree.
“The branches and leaves and twigs fall onto the street!” She’d exclaim. “Into my garden! You should trim the branches, cut them down.” Her voice was loud, but it returned no echo. Hiring someone to trim the branches would’ve cost hundreds considering its size; I explained that I would undertake the task once the weather improves. Thankfully, we live in a country where the weather never improves.