Wild peach tree dies struck by lightning

In the chicken yard, I find Jorge dressed for farm work. He strikes blows with a machete against the guanxuma plants, which would be good for hair health when not heaped up in the role of a pest worth only as dry brush.

Adjacent purposes tend not to live long in the bush. If you want guanxumas to use on your hair, plant them and tend them. Now, here, in the chicken yard, weeds grown from stems a finger thick, stubborn to pull out, no.

Drought kills trees in Campo Largo da Roseira. The larger trunks and branches go first to the ground, then to the pile to be cut, and, finally, meet the chopping block. Finally, because from there on the destiny is fire, which is not even eternal. It is a little stove fire that a city child operates as a recreational activity. From a tree that changes the world to an outlandish toy. We must, my God, take care of nature.

And when the rain comes angry. A bolt of lightning splits in half the ivaií tree, Eugenia myrcianthes, tasty to mares’ palates. The wild peach tree (pessegueiro-do-mato) has entire leaves and margins of the blade, opposite phyllotaxis. The little fruits are yellowish like araçá. Jorge:

When it dies, the branches stay on top of the other trees for a while, but, tired of the insolence, they quit the job.

The sounds of Saturday morning are similar to those of any other hour or day, except for the roar of gasoline brush cutters. There is a great accumulation of noisy machinery in the peace of the countryside. What a water pressurizer or a vacuum cleaner is in the city, brush cutters are in the countryside. Symphonically sing the birds, the dogs, the leaves and the cattle bells.