The branches, heavy with ice, creaked and swayed;
one by one, they splintered and fell
until only heartwood remained--
we lay in our beds, listening, waiting
for the next branch to drop.

The sky rushing in from the coast
is pure Kansas, the clouds
flying over in a hurry to be
someplace else, which makes
the answer to your question--
Are we home yet?--
a resounding yes.