There were flakes of the pine tree scattered across a couple snow-covered front yards. Two young strapping lads. One manned the wood chipper and the other tidied the mess up with a rake. This is how it was on my way west. Once I made the trek back east, the raking guy was wielding a blower, a leaf-blower I guess, only he was blowing sawdust and he was doing that in my direction. I squinted as squinty as I could, thinking none of the wood fibers could get into such lil slits, but that just wasn’t the case. I could feel all sorts of slivers mucking up my eye balls. I continued walking towards him thinking he’d notice and turn it off, but he jus’ kept blowing, his eyes focused on the tip of his blower pipe. I eventually held my hands up to my face. Sure enough, he still he shot wood into my eye slits. When my feet entered his line of vision he turned his blower off and said, “Sorry dude.”
“Oh that’s ok.” I said.
There’s definitely fibers still glued to my eyes. Tomorrow morning will bring papier-mache lumps on my cheeks.