Big Storm

Birds always know when a storm is coming.

I am standing in the door in the front of our home.  Above, the sky is dark.  The wind gusts, then pauses.  The branches on my oak trees bend.

Rosie looks through the screen door.  There is fear in her eyes.

I am worried, too.  One oak is leaning toward my house. Another is dying. Ivy surrounds its five foot circumference.  Even a tree can only last through one century at best.

Relief.  My leaning tree is not moving. My dying tree stands still.

I think of my neighbor, who waits for the right moment to ask me to cut my tree.  I hear a branch crack.  In her yard.


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