The pine trees lining the driveway murmured amongst themselves, the inconsiderate bastards. Don’t they know it’s rude to exclude people from a conversation? I need to know what they are saying. They might be plotting an ambush on my car during the next storm, hosting a flock of insolent birds with digestive troubles, creeping under the driveway with their roots, preparing to burst forth and tear the pavement into pebbles.
That’s alright. I have a lot of patience. And a chainsaw.