I walked along the path through the park. Many of the trees had fallen, some of which now obstructed the way. The larger trees had smashed the brick where they had fallen. Those you had to climb over to continue, which I did with only a slight bit of childish amusement. My wounds had healed enough to allow me freer movement. The path led me to the park playground and I saw the statue.
The statue of the City Commissioner had been raised in honor of his most recent reelection, the fifth consecutive successful campaign. A plaque at the base of the statue was inscribed with the words, “Barry Sarlowit, City Commissioner,” followed by his campaign slogan, “A hands on thinker for the city and the people.” He was meant to be immortalized in an ever modest bow to the city. I did not feel bad for smiling at what I saw.
On it’s way to the ground a surprisingly exacting tree had smashed into the statue, crushing the head and both of the arms up to the elbow in a blunt force, guillotine-style execution blow. The severed parts had collected at the statues feet, nothing but rubble and dust.
A breeze blew a scattering of leaves into the air in a spiral. In my giddiness I mused that it was the vestigial wind of the tornado lingering until the last bit of excitement had left the town. I imagined that it heard me laughing, scoffing back to me, “Is that funny to you? I found it amusing myself…” The wind dropped the leaves. They flipped and floated to the ground.