Archive for October, 2010

guacazombie

two weeks ago, this happened on my phone:

guac brains



and today, this happened in my kitchen:

guacazombie snack-o-lantern

happy halloween!

branches

autumn has been ushered in by an abundance of precipitation. except for the part where I have to take the subway to school, I love it: the atmosphere asserting itself; the grass springing back to life; the smell of water between the air molecules. so I was pretty excited when a tornado ripped through my neighborhood a few weeks ago.


the wind was like nothing I’ve ever seen, at least not from the inside. azure and I had been out for a short walk when the sky suddenly turned dark green and I knew that whatever was coming our way was not the usual storm. we dashed home, ran inside, and at the exact moment I closed the door behind us the tornado hit. it was impossible to see anything outside, but when I scrambled to remove the screens and close the windows, I could make out branches flying through the air and splintering against the railings on the fire escape. I rushed to grab my plants off the balcony and actually snatched the ponytail palm by the pot as was lifting off, touching nothing but the wind.


the tornado was gone in just a few minutes and I was so excited. I love weather!, I told facebook. then one of my friends who lives in an adjacent neighborhood emailed me: “so park slope is ruined, tree-wise. boo to tornadoes.”


I felt guilty. it hadn’t occurred to me to be sad for the trees. I was too thrilled by meteorology.


but when I went outside, and wandered in the dark through the wreckage of branches and concrete, I still didn’t feel sad. I know that the increasingly violent and frequent storms are likely a consequence of the slowly (but not slowly enough) warming ocean waters, so I can’t say that this is just nature being nature. nonetheless my only thought, looking at the naked and flindered wood, the wild ravels of fallen branches, was how beautiful it all was.

in the park, so many trees were damaged that there are still, two weekends later, massive piles of debris. the downed trees have been turned into improvisational jungle gyms, hiding places, secret forts, and sculptures. new pathways have formed, etched in the soil by single-file feet, around fallen trunks that have blocked the paved trails.

in an odd way the park, the neighborhood, and somehow the trees themselves, have never felt more alive.