That Sound of an Oncoming Train. . .

The weather man said afterward that the storm had 100-mph winds. When that horrible onrushing-train sound that means a tornado arrived and persisted about 7:45 p.m. last night, I took cover in my 5 x 4.5-foot bathroom, with my laptop and phone. That's probably how the Apocalypse will find me: Huddled in the can, not with family photos or a bankbook, but with the tools of my trade.

Tornadoes touched down east and north of here, wrecking 100 houses, but no one died. The storm came in darkness and left in darkness, so dawn was everyone's first chance to see the damage. The roaring winds tore off the top of the tallest and oldest cedar on the cliff edge behind my house. This exposed the tree's rosy  heartwood, both sad and very beautiful. The brave tree, to its last moment, kept the house safe. Now we must face future storms without it.

Heartwood

Somebody sawed down a red cedar. Inside is a heart red and blooming just like ours. A botany teacher once told us that plant cells and animal cells are alike, except plant cells have walls, and animal cells don't. What does that mean, we asked. "It indicates a common origin," he said.