The tree that fell


There were some cracking winds here the other night. Now me, I love a storm, it appeals to my dramatic nature and somehow I always feel more ‘up’ when the weather is wild.

There is a funny and useless vent in my front room, under the window, and when it rains (especially if there’s a good measure of wind too) it makes the most incredible noise. It sounds like hailstones indoors. It’s great. Or I think so, at least.

The Boy is less of a fan of the weather and our noisy, creaky house. So I had a bleary, sleepy cuddle from him at ten pm, one of those rare and precious moments when my tweenaged and serious big boy becomes my vulnerable and needy baby again for a while, and I get to squeeze him tight and sniff his sweaty little head. He’s growing up so fast and while I’m enjoying seeing glimpses of the man he’ll become, I do occasionally miss him being a cute and biddable small child.

Mind you, he can now make me cups of coffee and will stack the dishwasher if threatened with menaces so it’s not all sad.

Sunday morning brought the exciting news that a TREE had gone down in the storm! And, even better, it had entirely missed any houses, people or cars, so enjoying the spectacle was a guilt free pleasure. My little mindee, the Littlest Chum and me all went for a squizz of it earlier.


There is a small child for scale in this picture. As you can see, it’s an impressive tree.

Think about trees. They are huge, solid, with great big roots anchoring them to the ground. They live for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years. And then a big gust of wind in just the wrong place, from just the wrong direction, can rip it out of the ground and throw it over. Like a giant toddler chucking his train across the room in a temper.

I think that’s why I like storms. They’re like Mother Nature losing her rag with the world and having a big old ranty foot-stamping tantrum. I can relate to that.



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