Ice Storm The words I use for your peruse most likely will come to naught, One can’t understand-- much less comprehend-- what experience hasn’t bought. I’d seen the sights of others plights when weather had its say— Of falling limbs and wires and things—but always far away.--- Heard weeks might pass in winter’s grasp--- ‘ere power—again-- would flow--- Read lives at cost for what they’d lost, but really couldn’t know. Then one night-- all things were right-- for me to learn first hand— The front was slow and loth to go—chose halting ‘oer my land. The rain poured down on the frozen ground from the warm air over head— Still the temperature of the near earth air—below the freeze mark read. Both limb and wire-- new weights acquire —glistening in their glaze— A “fairyland”-- but less than grand-- returns my worried gaze-- Sounds of stress from the icy mess— a crackling to and fro— The constant drip of the raindrops trip—“why can’t this change to snow”? The sodden ground brings another sound that disturbs the peace of mind— The sump pump’s rhythmic pumping-- needing “juice” of a special kind. Sleep to me was never deep—this night of the burning eye-- My power gone—generator on—gasoline in short supply. Like a rifle’s crack—in the nighttime black-- the woes of the tall white pine— Their limbs would break and break and break—from the nearness—many were mine. Overhead—as I lay abed—came sounds of a different vein— A rooftop crash—then a sliding dash---again and again and again-- These sounds to me—a mystery—I’ve no trees overhead!! Could not agree that some far off tree could ever lean over my bed. Then a thunderous crash and a sickening smash and the sound of glass as it broke-- The night is too black and all vision I lack---to assess what had caused this last stroke. Not till gray dawn could I check out the lawn and see where I needed to see— Ice covered the ground as I slipped my way round to whatever happened-- would be. It was hard to believe-- the scene I perceive—devastation in such an array— Of five cherry trees—three brought to their knees—up-rooted and fallen away. The one on my roof ‘s-- now living proof-- of what I gave never a care— That a sixty foot tree could so threaten me-- when its root-ball was so far out there— Though the damage is real—I’m lucky I feel—it could‘ve been greater I know— The house will survive and I am alive and the kilowatts once again flow. Spring has now sprung (lawn mowing’s begun) but the black night will not go away— The debris from each tree-- keeps haunting me--and my chipper works day after day. The massive root humps—attached to the stumps like an Easter Island display— Have yet to reveal how I am to deal with the need to haul them away. When in winter I know—(It’s to be ice and not snow)—for some one in some other State-- I’ll have to agree that I’m glad it’s not me, but I’ll know just a bit of his fate. Bill Woodall