Still There

A rash of storms
Brought out the hum of saws
And my curiosity
To chase the damage

The pond at the bottom of the hill,
Normally guarded by four lush trees and
One browning evergreen that
To succumb to any natural aggressor
Be it lightning, ice, or wind,
Saw the action
Of Mother’s latest mood swing

One large tree
Seemingly full of health and life
Was tipped on its side
Roots ripped right from the ground.
Strewn about were leaves and branches
The aging sentinel
Stood proudly
Amidst all the younger rabble

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