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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