Beauty in Destruction

A few nights ago, we had a tremendous windstorm.

The house across the street from us had their front tree fall over right into the house.

A similar incident happened down the block from us, and Almond St. was closed while people worked at removing the tree.

For most of the day, you heard saws, as tree branches were broken up.

Today, my husband and I went for a walk in Brandon Park.

Fifteen trees were damaged in some way: some merely lost branches, but others were torn up by the roots and lying on their sides in strange positions.

What struck me about these trees was how beautiful they were.

A tree that had been partially blown  over looked as if  it was bowing from the waist to some unseen tree spirit, asking for a dance, perhaps a minuet.

And one tree with an extensive  root system had been torn out of the ground and lay in its side. 

As I watched, the roots formed a design in my mind’s eye, similar to a beautiful abstract mural.

Then I looked again, and my mind, trying to impose order on reality--as minds do--saw it as the fall of Troy.

There was Aeneas, escaping with his father and son, and losing his wife as he runs in panic at a sound that he thinks heralds the arrival of more Greeks.

And there he is again, returning to his home and hoping futilely that Creusa, his wife, has also gone back there.

Instead, he finds a scene of chaos as the wall surrounding Troy is breached and the city goes down in flames.

All of this from one windstorm.

What a gift the imagination is.