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Down south looked so different. The extreme below-freezing temperatures a couple of weeks ago heavily affected the land. My family said it was pretty bad, Littlerock road was a mess with tree limbs and whole trunks littered everywhere.

Everything changes with time. I’m gone for a few weeks, come back, and find my home different.

The forests themselves were very changed; they were different from what my eyes were accustomed to seeing. Even cultivated trees had been broken by the ice; the three miniature trees in our neighbor’s yard had completely split and looked like they had been struck by lightning.

The evergreens had lost limbs as thick as some trunks, and other had lost their peaked tops. It’s a miracle that Dad and Ian had already taken down the huge maple over Christmas break. If they hadn’t, it might’ve destroyed the garage roof.

I wonder what my faery trail back home looks like? I bet it’s changed a lot. I’ve changed a lot too, but not really. I still wander the forest alone, I haven’t grown much older, and I still have the heart of a child.

But ice storms have come, and I am changed–older, a bit weathered, and a bit wiser on how to withstand the next ice storm. It will come, ice storms always come. I will brace myself and withstand it, I have deep roots, I shall not be split in half.

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