Last night the wind raged. It roared through our pine tree sending loose bark and small branches down upon the roof of our little house.
I lay in bed and tried to estimate the weight of that tree: 30 tonnes, perhaps? What if that angry wind tore down our ancient conifer, pulled its mighty boughs from their heavenly home and brought them crashing down upon our earthly one. If that happened, would my small family make a sound, I wondered.
I thought, if that tree falls, it would spell the end of me lying in bed thinking about what would happen if that tree falls.
And, as I drifted into sleep, a menagerie of wild images swirled around in my mind. Pines and spines, sap and sinew, limbs and limbs, all overlapping each in a bizarre collage, a phantasmagorical nightmare.
By morning the wind had abated.