The spring has hardly begun and yet here we are standing together just outside the pursuit wind-powered weasel cages preparing to go on yet another wild accordion hunt. Personally, I blame global warming. You very rarely used to see wild accordions this far north. I can remember my granddad, in one of his more lucid moments, recounting the fact that he never even saw a wild accordion until the day after his wedding day - at age thirteen - when he was out in the woods hunting for a bunch of wild lawyers to take home as a gift for his new young bride.
We had tried to set up a few nesting boxes for some of the free-range hairstylists down in the woods, but as I've mentioned before, the hairstylists were attacked by the accordions. Hairstylists have very few natural predators (mainly only wild accordions and feral banjos), so we did think they would be able to nest in peace in our woods. But back then, we were not aware of the recent infestation of our woodlands by these accordions.
We had looked forward to calm peaceful summer evenings listening to the gentle susurrations of the hairstylists calling to each other about their holiday plans across the woodland from their nesting boxes high in the trees. Instead each night we hear the accordions begin their unearthly wailing and then the panicked screams of the hairdressers as they flee from tree to tree before that final last heartbreaking cry, and then silence.