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An unusual humidity settled into the house just as the evening dinner dishes were being cleared from the table. Glances out the kitchen window above the sink revealed the same grey sky that had hovered over our corner of the world for the last week. The patio, with it's plants plants just starting to re-root after a brutal winter, the yard, with patches of lovely green grass visible under a pile of late winter leaves, and the big Live Oak tree looked much the same. Only...the breeze, that had playfully flung the late winter leaves down from the tree and onto the deck for days on end, had stilled. A quick check of the Weather App indicted a warm, humid evening-nothing more. Yet...an eerie feeling hovered as the household settled in for the night.
     In what seemed like moments, but was actually hours later, the phone vibrated it's way across the nightstand screeching in alarm. The air had chilled drastically and lighting played across the clouds in the nighttime sky visible through the blinds of the bedroom window. No sound followed the lightening's dance. No sound, now that the phone had stilled, could be heard at all. As soon as it became clear that the power was out, a bright white streak lit up the sky accompanied by a roll of thunder. Cats and human companions raced each other down the stairs to the relative safety of the ground floor.
     Candles soon created a cozy glow while outside a special light show seemed to be put on just for us. Through the picture window The Tree on the Corner stood tall and strong against the storm. It's delicately intertwined branches highlighted by each brilliant flash of light as it reached skyward in celebration of the rain that would bring help bring out it's spring beauty. Yet, as D.H. and I sipped wine and marveled at the power of the storm, I realized that the the tree's winter-time raw strength was the beauty that needed to be reflected in it's knitted portrait.
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