The stranger was called into the vineyard. Grimly, he assessed the situation.
there was undesirable elements growing in the vineyard. the shoots had grown beyond the top cordon wire. the growth must be stopped.
it was for the good of the grapes.
he bowed his head...was it a prayer for the soon to be dying? was it gathering of inner strength to finish the job quickly? the vineyard grew eeriely silent.
as if in a zen state, the hired gun assumed the warrior position. slice! slice! a rusty blade flashed and glinted in the high noon sun. the stranger worked as if a man possessed, striding down the rows of the proofing vineyard. in his wake fell the offending shoots, silently collapsing from where they once grew.
and then, just as suddenly as the hired gun had appeared in the vineyard—he strode off into the sunset. his work was done for another day. the grapes would once again flourish.