PO Box 1980

Recently some men came to my house to do some heavy yard work. They pruned down the bushes separating my neighbor's yard from mine. As they led me outside to show me their accomplishment, it took all my feeble acting ability to hide my shock and disappointment. On the eight bushes, I could not find more than three leaves. I like my neighbors, but I truly appreciated the privacy the bushes offered; and when the harsh Levante winds rushed in from the desert, their value as a windbreak would be greatly missed. To all appearances, the bushes were dead.