There used to be a couple of magnificent old oaks in a yard that I drive past all the time. They had never been topped. They had massive branches that were evenly spaced and cascaded out around them as if to say, "look at the strength of my timbers and the merry doves that take shelter in the cool shade of my vibrant foliage". Occasionally I would cringe as a half nude, obese fellow would be riding by on a mower. "Oh well", I thought, "at least he has some beautiful trees". Then one day as I was driving past, all the branches had vanished and all that remained was a couple of mutilated trunks with only a sprig for a top. The fat man's lust for lawn had taken its toll. The glorious strength of the Oaks were no more.