the massive wood piles are quiet reminders of the ice storm. 

by-passers will not know why these piles are everywhere. for them they blend into a typical country picture. there are farms, cows, fields and wood piles. nothing out of the ordinary. to me these piles resemble power. these dead trees, these tree trunks piled upon each other are like troops, like an army ready to march. how many years are lying there? how may winters and snow falls, how many thunder storms and heat waves had those trees seen? and now they are silent reminders of a storm, which broke them. And yet they  are still so strong. Eventually, some of them will burn in my fire place and the flames will melt away my memories.