Living at 7.000feet, I am fortunate to have a big window that opens out on the forest so that the trees are almost within my reach. If I jumped. I could land quite neatly in the arms of an oak or horse chestnut. I have never made that leup, but the big langurs-silver grey monkeys with long swishing tails-often spring from the trees onto my corrugated tin roof, making enough noise to frighten all the birds away. Standing on its own outside my window is a walnut tre, and truly this is a tree for all seasons. In winter the branches are bare but beautifully smooth and rounded. In spring each limb produces a bright green spear of new growth, and by mid-summer the entire tree is in leaf. Toward the end of the monsoon the walnuts, encased in their green jackets, have reached maturity. When the jackets begin to split, you can see the hard brown shells of the nuts, and inside each shell is the delicious meat itself. Every year this tree givesme a basket of walnuts. But last year the nuts were disappearing one by one, and I was at a loss as to who had been taking them. Could it have been the milkman's small son? He was an inveterate tree climber, but he was usually to be found on the oak trees, gathering fodder for his herd. He admitted that his ows had enjoyed my dahlias, which they had eaten the previous week, but he stoutly denied having fed them walnuts. t wasn't the woodpecker either. He was out there every day, knocking furiously against the bark of the tree, trying to pry an insect out of a narrow crack, but he was strictly non-vegetarian. As for the Langurs, they are my geraniums but did not care for the walnuts. The nuts seemed to disappear early in the moming while I was still in bed, so one day I surprised everyone, including myself, by getting up before sunrise. I was just in time to catch the culprit climbing out of the walnut tree. She was an old woman who sometimes came to cut grass on the hillside. Her face was as wrinkled as the walnuts she so fancied, but her arms and legs were very sturdy. And how many walnuts did you gather today, Grandmother? I asked. Just two,' she said with a giggle, offering them to me on her open palm. I accepted one, and thus encouraged, she climbed higher into the tree and helped herself to the remaining nuts. It was impossible for me to object. I was taken with admiration for her agility. She must have been twice my age, but I knew I could never get up that tree. To the victor, the spoils! Unlike the prized walnuts, the horse chestnuts are inedible. Even the rhesus monkeys throw them away in disgust. But the tree itseltf is a friendly one, especially in summer when it is in full leaf. The lightest breeze makes the leaves break into conversation, and their rustle is a cheerful sound. The spring flowers of the horse chestnut look like candelabra, and when the blossoms fall, they carpet the hillside with their pale pink petals.
who is strictly non vegetarian?
Answers
Explanation:
I am fortunate to have a big window that opens out on the forest so that the trees are almost within my reach. If I jumped. I could land quite neatly in the arms of an oak or horse chestnut. I have never made that leup, but the big langurs-silver grey monkeys with long swishing tails-often spring from the trees onto my corrugated tin roof, making enough noise to frighten all the birds away. Standing on its own outside my window is a walnut tre, and truly this is a tree for all seasons. In winter the branches are bare but beautifully smooth and rounded. In spring each limb produces a bright green spear of new growth, and by mid-summer the entire tree is in leaf. Toward the end of the monsoon the walnuts, encased in their green jackets, have reached maturity. When the jackets begin to split, you can see the hard brown shells of the nuts, and inside each shell is the delicious meat itself. Every year this tree givesme a basket of walnuts. But last year the nuts were disappearing one by one, and I was at a loss as to who had been taking them.