Large trees of the same shape and height lined the streets. The trees were the same up and down every street, though there was variety on the individual yards. The trees were seldom ones he recognized. Rarely was there an oak or redwood, and never a bay tree. He could not understand why the trees were different in the town. When he passed an oak, he tried to listen for its communication. A tree said something, could be happy or sad. Sometimes it was a song. This was not the same as when Rudy the thief spoke, or Toony or Oblogatta. There were no words with the trees, yet Coyote understood. Not only that, but it made him happy when they communicated. He did not know the language of the town trees. He thought they did not speak at all. Perhaps they had not been taught to speak. Then too, the earth of the town did not speak. The earth was not the earth he knew. It had been changed, covered, and had foul odors.