Poplar gothic

      A wild night with the clouds scurrying across the sky and the poplars heaving and swaying. It's almost a full moon but there aren't any rivers overflowing, and I can't hear any hounds calling or leathery wings slapping and banging on the windows.
      Sadly half of this stand of Poplars has been trimmed back and no doubt the sawn wood has been trimmed, split and stored as part of next winter's fuel supply.
      There always seems to be a great sense of melancholy about trees that have been hacked back in this manner. No doubt the shortened trees will recover, I hope so, Poplars always seem to stand up to the worst winds that the weather can throw at them so hopefully they'll recover from the chainsaw too.
       You heard something slapping on the window? OK, I'll close all the windows, just in case.