In one of those scenes so typical of Afghan village life, I watched a group of men felling a tall poplar tree beside the road. There were no chain saws or even axes. One group dug around the roots of the tree, while another group pulled on a rope attached to the top of the tree. At one point the rope snapped, sending the men tumbling backwards. Finally the tree came down with a thud, lying completely across the main street, which had almost no traffic. Then, in the Afghani style of wasting nothing, herds of goats and sheep were brought out to strip the leaves from the fallen tree. I sat drinking tea and watching these timeless slices of life.

© 1977, 2001 Richard McGuire

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