It was a stormy, windy night when the island’s power went out yet again. I was wondering about the trees and who the hell is flying that prop plane slowly cruising overhead, while the big, bright ferry remains parked at the terminal across the narrows.
But the trees are more interesting. I imagine them enjoying the storm, dancing in the wind, exuberantly shouting “yyyyyeeeaaaahhh!” and “wheeeeeee!” (in tree language, of course). They’ve spent the majority of their lives standing calm and strong, unhurried. All of that spiraling and branching must have been done with the awareness that they would be regularly tested by the elements.
I wonder if there’s a collective “hooray!” when their spirit passes on, when they’re snapped in half or blown over to reveal their roots. Do the others nearby celebrate their friend’s awesome exit?
I’ve always loved wind storms. Well, any storm, really. Thunder and lightning have a particularly intense energy about them. As a young lad, I enjoyed hanging out in a tree in our front yard, especially when it was windy. It wasn’t a massive cedar or spruce like some of the seasoned adventurers outside my window now, living in coastal British Columbia, but it was tall enough to sway in a good breeze, and I would climb right to the top. It was magical, enveloped as I was by the overwhelming torrent of sounds and swirls.
And when this storm passes, and the rains come to wash away the dust, we’ll have to step over some debris while looking for the guilty parties. Those trees will no doubt just stand there innocently and stoically.
Nothing to see here. Carry on.
Oh? Then why are you glowing?
Nature amazes.