Sticks

During a  storm the mighty basswood tree in the backyard spits out branches. Then in the next morning the charcoal grill looks as if subterranean arms are pulling it back to the earth. To slough off the iron, rust, and wood and melt it back into the earth to fertilize the tree. Smaller bushes are slain by forked branches cutting through the leathery leaves and thorns. Or just tall curved branches that loop up from the grass. Our yard's version of Ayer's Rock, thin wooden monoliths from the ground. 

But, no leaves. Those have been shucked to some further ether. Another neighbor's yard, perhaps? The woods a few miles away? Just dry spindly branches sometimes peppered with the ears of tundra green fungi. 

"That tree is dying," said our behind the fence line neighbor. He had come around to the front to tell me a large branch had fallen in his yard and what I was going to do about it. "Just put it in my yard. Sorry about that."

So, after the storms there is a second flurry of sticks that come from above the forsythia hedge. And not just from my tree but the elderberry bush behind said neighbor's shed. The shagbark hickory on the right of our properties that boomerangs off pieces of its bark with just a strong glance. My yard becomes the neighborhood woodpile for the tin pot yard dictators of the suburbs. These guys have their own edgers and seeders and I chop wood with the hatchet sharpened with my wife's chef block sharpener and rusted from dozens of camping trips.

My mother once came to visit and was leery of the tree. Clutching her rosary she said "Branch will fall" and rarely left the basement. Loaded with leaves that look like elongated hearts and the dew drop tiny flowers it does not feel ominous even with its 70 foot height. But the main branches from the first ring of limbs are as wide as diving boards and thicker than the handsome logs on the faux exterior of a Cracker Barrel. Those could fall with a Seussian "galumph" onto the ground  and cut a deep divot into the earth, unlike the wimpy branches from a regular storm. Those big branches are finite in their threat. One biblical storm and then its gone but the small are endless. Maybe she meant death by hundreds of pin pricks? The neighbor would certainly agree but he is protected by 50 feet of yard and the fan sweep of the branches. 

After the storm then there are questions. Will it be the next one that sunders the main branch? Live another day! Also potential. Fill up the wood bin and fuel a conflagration. The ever burning flame of summer evenings.