bastards came and chopped down the eagle tree, was my first thought. of course given the gale-force winds that have lately been terrorizing the neighbourhood, it is far more likely that the tree, a half-dead relic of days when the earth was ruled by dinosaurs, or at least men with far too much brilliantine in their hair and women with pointy breasts, simply gave up, gave in and checked out on its own.
but i like to think that the eagles' landlord, a smirking greasy chap forever dreaming of a quick buck, tired of the eagles' partying, irregular hours, the overpowering smell of dead fish, and the vast piles of eagle poop, finally evicted them and sold their home to the lumber mill for a modest profit.
gone is my morning diversion. goodbye eagle tree. goodbye my bald neighbours.