DAWN affords clear
visibility beyond glass doors.
Darkness offered driving rain,
wild, whipping wind – howling, flexing,
rattling vinyl siding, walls and windows.
Ancient tall trees suddenly fell in
thunderous foundation-shaking thuds.
Thick branches cracked, split,
moaned in protest, earthy roots exposed.
Acorns popped against windows
like corn popping. Shredded chips
of summer leaves plastered sideways
against all glass surfaces, tick-tick-tick.
Covering the ground, a Matrix
of “spider web” branches
filled with leaves still green,
acorn “victims” pooled beneath.
Cavernous holes in the earth
where trees once grew, now
peeled back, earth-scabs
revealing matted shallow roots
grown over granite slabs just under
the surface of the earth throughout Maine.
Generators hummed throughout
the night. Sounds of rebuilding,
re-ordering the neighborhood.
Weeks fill with the sound of many
Buzzing chainsaws ripping mighty
trees into piles of wood chips.
Stillness descends,
turbulence at last quieted,
Mother Nature mourns
for the loss of precious trees,
stately children of her forest
on the Kennebec.
Curious homeowners scour
a once-thick forest, tripping over
downed branches or dangling roots
ripped from the storm-ravaged earth.
Deer, moose, small animals
sniff the wind, newly alert,
searching for new, secure homes.
Hunter orange soon mingles
with thick layers of yellow,
orange, red and chocolate brown
fall leaves whose tethers ripped
from strong tree branches
in micro-bursts whipping
through one town across the
Kennebec River to the next.
Swan Island in the Kennebec -- 