The War Zone

In my writerly way, a debate rages inside. After our great ice storm, the land here is like a war zone. But the phrase war zone is too severe. So my mind churns away seeking a fitting analogy.



A friend from Michigan is visiting today at my parent's where I am staying until I remediate the mold in my house.

Over breakfast he starts talking in with his Finnish accent. He gazes out the window overlooking the damaged forest on my Dad's land.

'There are so many trees snapped all over the place and the chaos in the woods is like a bomb went off.'

'It's like a war zone.'

Got mold?

A day after I proposed to Betsey, we learned immediately and in the last month that we're both allergic to mold in my house.



The long, slow remediation process is underway.