This is a post for the blog hop Six Sentence Story: Wind. The challenge is to write a story using the prompt word (wind) and to use only six sentences to tell it.
This prompt inspired a memory and some thoughtful reflection.
How could it be that something so stable could be struck down? It was a pillar of stability, even a directional point. I had walked over the bridge shaded by its limbs, and peered into the deep pool of water near its feet.
Part of my past fell with it that day. Pieces of my memory, as though shattered too from the lightning strike, and the little cotton tuffs dispelled through the air all around me as if each was a singular thought.
The towering cottonwood, ever present, now lay on the ground with roots exposed to all, barring entrance to the bridge, succumbed by the power of the wind.