brni (brni) wrote,

the morning after

The morning after a big storm always has a sense of unreality. A relative quiet, after the howling of the winds throughout the night, the rustling of agitated leaves, the creaking and cracking of wood. Somewhere around 2 am I heard loud cracking, and waited to hear the boom. When they built this development in 1950/51, they cleverly planted one small oak tree immediately in front and in back of each house. We have it on good authority that our oaks have been well tended, and are healthy and strong and not likely to come down in less than extreme weather. Our neighbor's oaks had been pruned until they looked like Dr. Seuss trees, and the top twisted off in the gusty aftermath of Hurricane Isabel.

Oak is really heavy.

But this time, there was no resounding, earth-shaking boom, and somewhere around 3am I drifted off to bed.

Woke up to relative quiet, and oddly filtered light, with the nagging thought that things were too quiet, so I was probably killed in my sleep, and was a ghost doomed to keep waking up to a too-quiet, oddly-filtered-light morning, wondering if I was alive, and feeling vaguely guilty that I'd let everyone down by not mentioning the cracking-wood sounds that killed us.

At this point I'm fairly certain that I'm not dead.


We lost power briefly around 10pm - just long enough to get the candles lit.

The cracking wood was a tree coming down in our back yard. Not the oak. This one is further back, in the gully by the creek - a poison-ivy encased cherry tree that stood right by the power lines (and phone, and fiber) that feed both our house and our neighbor's. Fortunately, it fell away from the wires.

Other than that (and possibly actually being dead, and a ghost that's only imagining writing a blog post), we seem to have come out relatively unscathed.
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