God Plays Darts

     It started out like any other day, only a little better. I woke up, had my coffee, jumped into the shower, got dressed. Between the coffee and hot shower, I felt invigorated and full of energy. And, even though I rarely take or post selfies online, I thought I'd make an exception and took a one quarter one for a friend of mine in the Philippines. As it turned out, it was the last picture I'd ever take of the tree just beyond my patio while it was still upright.

     Phoenix has its monsoon season every year at this time (July-August). The residents had been balefully warning me about it since I arrived in early-mid April. Prior to last night, I could literally count all the rain storms we've had since then on the fingers of one hand. Last night made up for lost time. Because just a few hours after that selfie was taken, the world turned Biblical.

      The weather "experts" really dropped the ball on this one. Prior to last night's monsoon, they were predicting wind gusts of no more than 35 miles an hour. And when it began blowing up outside, the patio was too dangerous so I went out the front door and watched the storm from the courtyard. It was obvious that the wind I was witnessing was a helluva lot more than 35 mph. The trees were rocking and rolling in a way I've never seen trees move before.

     I heard a crash later so I went out to the patio and saw the pine tree just outside had snapped like a twig, right at ground level. I took the second picture you see then went down to see what it looked like at ground level and it looked even uglier (third picture).

     It was a good, sturdy tree, about 50-60 feet high so it was probably even older than me. Birds had made their nests in that tree. Because of that tree, I'd gotten a couple of visits from tiny hummingbirds that would get to within 6-7 feet of me, look at me then zip off. One morning, I got a visit from a mourning dove, which are more common around here than pigeons.

 

     This is the aftermath of last night's monsoon. Management had called in a tree removal company and they worked all morning with chain saws and wood chippers to get the carnage down to more manageable dimensions. I did a survey of the building last night before the storm had left Phoenix. That tree, the one closest to me of all the trees in Phoenix, was the only one that fell last night as far as the eye could see. When it fell, it took out part of the car port and even mangled the wrought iron security fencing with its immense weight.

     Like I said, it was a good, sturdy tree and that proved to be its undoing. It literally stood its ground and valiantly made a go of it before coming up against a more powerful force. Again, the tree was snapped at just above ground level as if it was a matchstick. 35 mph winds, my ass. More like 100 or more. And its strength and initial inflexibility was what ultimately killed it. Off in the distance, there are palm trees, much more slender but their flexibility and ability to bend with the wind was what had saved them.

     And again, it hasn't been lost on me that out of all the countless trees in Phoenix, this one was the closest to me and was the only one in the neighborhood that got knocked down. Kind of makes you think. I know it makes me think. I traveled 3100 miles out west just to have this happen right outside my patio. If the wind had been blowing in from the west, that tree would've gone right through the patio window.

     The birds around here look confused. That tree had been their home, their pit stop, their community center. A few minutes ago, I saw a mourning dove perch on the car port and look down wondering what had happened. Where's my home? Yeah, I can sympathize, even empathize. I still can't get used to seeing that blank spot when I look out the window, when I go out on the patio.

     That poor tree literally stood its ground and paid the ultimate price for it. It's what they do. What choice do they have? They can't just pull up stakes and leave when things get unpleasant. They have no choice but to stay where they are and stick it out the best they can, regardless of the potential outcome.