The old, large black walnut in our yard— I recall—must have grown with God's first words. Before my grandparents gave us the house, Lightning struck a limb. It nearly came down. We could have chopped away, but grandfather Had a chain, semi-truck, and an idea. Cinched together by force and cold metal, It healed to leak fruit for two more decades. My uncle did eventually cut it, But the ground still tembles where it once stood.