A 20-foot branch came crashing through our ceiling the other night.

It was raining a lot and a bit breezy. I can only imagine that the branch must have been compromised in some way and with the additional heft of the water absorbed, it was just too much to continue holding on.

So it let go.

I can imagine if I were hovering above a roof for years on end and finally had a chance to take a peek at what was happening underneath, I might go for it as well.

It is what we do as kids, lifting up rocks and stepping stones and rotting logs to see the life scurrying around underneath.

So it seemed with this branch. A bit invasive and a tad out-of-place. But exhibiting life’s urgent and essential curiosity.

And then the more we looked, the more we tended to the details of this branch, the more we saw a face. A long snout, bushy eyebrows, and a gentle lower jaw.

Even more than curious, this branch looked as if it were some forlorn, over-sized serpent that had gone rooting for friends and understanding when, thrusting his head down some rabbit hole to see if anybody was home, he got stuck.

For a very brief moment we toyed with keeping it there. He is becoming something like a pet. I mean “it”, it is becoming something like a pet. Or at least a nouveau decorative accent.

The roofer came a day or two ago and made a temporary seal around the hole so all is secure. The whole thing should be fixed next week. They will take a chain saw to the branch to get it out. And I will burn it in our stove when the cold weather comes again.

Then this intrusion and the forlorn looking face of Nature that seems to be carrying a worldly sadness tinged with a hopeful hint of expectation and a bigger fear of betrayal (Rorschach logs, anyone?), will just be another odd interlude in the annals of those of us who choose to live among the trees.

And it will remain a reminder that as much as we love nature, we love it on our terms.
Which, of course, nature often renegotiates.