Six tenth of the way through pruning, the soft tissues in my forearms ache from using my blunt loppers. Time to reclaim the ancient cherry picker from rusting in the home orchard. Jump started and fuelled, its compressed air driven secateurs will sever branches and digits as thick as index fingers.

At its highest elevation the julosipede commands unsurpassed views of the walnut orchard. My vertigo prevents my enjoyment. Its that Kunderian fear of wanting to fall.

I use the blue extension to prune with my feet planted at ground level. The powered shears make no impact on the branches of a calibre that have ruined my upper limb tendons. I am left to ponder.





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