Today we’re watching the storm come in. That little angel with the broken wing on the table was here when I moved in over 10 years ago, but I think she’s been here a lot longer than that. Sometimes it seems like she’s watching over the place.

You can’t really tell, but the ocean is just past those trees and we’re close enough to feel the spray coming off the building swell. They’re calling for possible typhoons and it already looks like victory at sea out there, with the bigger waves slamming up against the bluff.

Some trees are losing their weaker branches to the wind, dead limbs that have long since stopped helping the trees grow. I guess storms have a way of stripping away what trees don’t need.

Our own storms do the same thing.

But they’re still storms.