And just like how you thought it would be,
And the oak fell with the most delicate calculation,
given by the softness of the pushing wind,
and came to be with a thud where it is now.
The wind took its leave and was never seen again;
only remembered by the one who had first
seen how it could be.
And even if told to another
it wouldn’t have mattered.
Because it was
and it didn’t.