Under

It was almost two weeks after the storm before I had a chance to walk around Evergreen Cemetery. I heard later on that twenty two trees had fallen, and I wasn't surprised. They were big trees, most of them at least a hundred feet tall, ten feet around at the base, all twisted and broken off or ripped out of the ground by the roots.

I took my time walking around, another little bit of disaster tourism. I got in the hole left by one of the root balls, I climbed over and under the trunks, found the secret rooms bounded by the trunks and wallpapered by the branches. It was a beautiful afternoon, clear and calm, the sky an uninterrupted sheet of blue.

This was not the end of days. No graves opened up and belcher out their occupants, blinking in amazement at a new heaven and a new earth, cowering in anticipation of the wrath to come. The dead slept on, undisturbed by the noisy party held by the inconsiderate neighbors upstairs, indifferent to the mess left behind. It was a scandal and a reproach only to the living, who did their best, later on, to restore the graveyard to a condition of order, and hide the evidence of nature's unruly misbehavior.

But, no surgery without scars, and I like the cemetery all the better for them. And the residents aren't complaining. Of course, they never do.