Cynthia was my dogwood tree. I’ve always been a fan of trees, but I’ve particularly admired dogwoods, and when David and I bought our house in February 2009 one of the first things we did to make it our own was plant a dogwood tree in the front yard. Her name was Cynthia. I say this purposefully, that that was her name, not that “I named her Cynthia.” Well, in the violent wind that struck Spokane on the 12th, she perished, blown over and snapped from her roots about four inches from the ground. Actually, it looked like she’d been run over by a car, and with my friend’s Jeep parked on my lawn a few feet away, that was naturally my first thought. But it was the wind, and for that I am glad because you can’t waste your energy being angry at the wind for blowing, because that is simply what the wind does. But I am sad for Cynthia. Disproportionately sad.

You were a beautiful tree, Cynthia, torn down in your prime. You will be missed.

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