Winter lightning flashes,
strikes my neighbor’s pine
I can smell fragrant sap
even through closed windows
 
In the morning
a trail of burnt grass
leads my eyes to
the tree’s wound
a bare line in the bark
where lightening 
shimmied down from 
the top to the ground
and followed the root
line out through the grass.
 
I note a few birds, the ones
who winter over, year-round
residents as are we,
pecking on the ground, peeking 
at the pine now and then as they
search for breakfast among
whatever underground life
storm may have flushed out.
 
My neighbor comes out,
birds fly up into the tree.
Neighbor tells me, as he
inhales deeply of the remaining
burnt pine scent, “It almost
hit my house. I’m taking it down.”
Birds begin to chirp and chatter
as if they understand. That
unexpected winter storm
displaced them temporarily—
my neighbor will destroy their
homes forever.