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The sirens should have sounded. The wind was straight-line and coming in at 94 miles an hour at 3 a.m. No rain. No thunder. Just that sound. That sound that people on the plains know means a tornado is possible, if not imminent. That supernatural train-like roaring moan.
But the sirens did not sound. The first mechanical sound after the storm was that of chainsaws, so many of them going at one time, that all one had to do was walk outside and be overtaken by the noise.
As silent as the sirens, the trees took the hard edge of the destructive wind. Some lost limbs. Some were split in half, top to bottom. Others were toppled, roots and all. One tree had a 9-foot spread of roots, now lifted up to the air.

Trees. Those great beings that cannot run. That give us shade, shelter, fruits, color, memories and places to climb and swing. They're hurting now. They can't go inside from storms.

Time to go hug these trees, the survivors, the wounded, the lost.
Afraid someone will call you a tree hugger?
Oh, it's worth it.
How do I know?
Oo la la, I'll never tell.
Try it and you'll see.
It's worth it.
Text copyright 2007, Ysabel de la Rosa
Image: Broken Perfection, copyright 2007 Ysabel de la Rosa

Comments

E B Hawley said…
Thank you for another touching piece. I've long considered myself a tree-hugger. I lost a seventy-year old Red Oak during that storm. It was the tree upon which a Barred Owl perched to watch us in our courtyard in the evenings. And I noted increased squirrel activity in the downed tree all morning after the storm. I'm with you, hugging the trees -- and then let us pray for the animals who depend on them.

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