by Leslie Bonner
Have you ever felt like you were walking on the moon with zero gravity, no tether to this
earthly plane?
I have, and it’s terrifying.
Terrifying because there is no magnetic pole or navigational direction.
As I walk among the trees felled by a cyclonic tornado amongst 31 inches of rain at the top
of Hwy 9 in Black Mtn NC on September 27, 2024, there are barkless trees with roots
exposed and stacked like unfortunate corpses.
On my road, my little trickling stream has turned into a gigantic wash of rubble.
There is a wounded bird, a cardinal of the neighborhood.
I pick it up and it doesn’t struggle.
Our gazes meet and I understand it is grief that I recognize.
Its mate had been taken by the storm.
I nuzzle him close and tell him I understand.
I blow my warm breath towards him, then set him on the limb of a low branch.
I continue my traverse. MY mate was safe.
Walking to my deck and home, which thankfully still stands, I look to the heavens, extend
my arms to the sky and say, “WHY?”
I sleep that night and dream my answer.
A huge grandmother poplar whispers, “Sweetie.”
Huh?? My imagination is going coocoo I think.
Then again… this time louder, sterner.
“SWEETIE!”
I stir in my sleep. She says, “I come to answer your question of WHY. The Council of Elders
and all of the olden trees speak.”
I’ve been laying down poplar flower seeds and just across the ridge the oaks have been
laying down akerns for over 100 years.
Now, look beneath your feet. Look beneath our roots. Do you see the golden filigree light
pulsing beneath the soil? We are all one and our seeds have taken root.
But our drops, our baby drops need more light. The canopy has become too thick, so we the
council called the winds and volunteered to be taken. We all volunteered to create more
light in the forest for our young ones.
We had a choice of calling the fire spirits or wind spirits. But we love you two-leggeds and
forest dwellers so much, that we chose the wind. The trees to the west have chosen the fire.
What you called rubble are volunteers in love. Respect them.
And now bring your vision to the floor of the forest again. Look at the light streaming in,
feeding our offspring.
Stop pretending that there is no ending. That is my message to you. It is a cycle of life.
I awoke crying for them and I began to heal.
I stepped outside that next morning and was able to see the sunrise in my back yard for the
first time in 10 years. I walked to the front of our sweet cabin and saw light beams trickling
into the forest floor.
We are on the mend. I think I understand now. Thank you for, dear hearts, for your love.
Storm Helene observer
P.S. The graciousness of the men and women who came to our area to aid us in opening roads is beyond my comprehension of the power of love and service to others. Angels On Tractors I call them. We are beholden.
Photo by Erin Brethauer
