Morning Reflection

I've been enjoying the pleasant morning air today. The sliding glass door is open so the Penster can wander in and out as she pleases. It's cool enough to keep the skeeters from buzzing around and finding their way into the house. I'll close the door when the first insectoid flies in.

It's a beautiful blue, sun-shiny day. But there's a problem.

There's just too much sky. I look out my backdoor and the scene that used to be framed by the bright green shapes of large oaks and pines and whatever other kinds of trees grow around here, is now framed by what seem like skeletal remains. It's sad.

I drive down the streets and, especially early in the morning or toward dusk, the trees which used to help filter the rising or setting sun are gone, and the brightness hurts the eye. It's sad.

While the number of chainsaws doing their buzzing is nowhere near the number making their racket after Rita, the sound of their cutting puts my teeth on edge and causes me to cringe a little.

Still, it is a very pleasant morning. The fresh air is healing. The pain's still there, but I can remember that healing happens. It happened after Rita. It will happen after Ike. It's a process which takes time. But it happens. *sigh*