Three days after the blizzard she was awakened by a loud crash. Then another, and another. She looked out of the window and saw big indentations in the snow below, and shards of glistening ice. The icicles had fallen.

That afternoon, dressed as warmly as possible. She set out. The peaceful walk that she had taken almost every day of her life, no matter what the weather, now seemed like a difficult journey.

It wasn't just the snow, which was two feet deep in the shallowest places, but seeing the full extent of the blizzard's fury. The peacefulness of the thick white covering it had left behind was deceptive. Much had been destroyed and the carnage was terrible. Bushes had been uprooted and the pathways were littered with broken branches and great pieces of bark. Worst of all were the roots dangling in the air from the trunks of the giant trees that had been brought down by the wind.

It was eerily still, as if every living thing had been buried in the snow. The hills that had always been so full of life now seemed more like a frozen graveyard.

Eventually, Sister Anthony reached the stand of trees that led to the clearing. Her heart lifted when she saw that most of them were still upright, but then she remembered Tree didn't have the protection of other trees. He stood alone, completely vulnerable to the storm.

She pushed on, walking as firmly as she could through the snow. Finally, she stood at the edge of the clearing and with a small cry sank to her knees.

There was Tree, his vast snow-covered branches waving gently, as if it were a spring afternoon and everything was the same as it had always been.

Sister Anthony picked herself up and went over to her friend. She laid her cheek against his bark. He felt strong as ever, and warm against her icy face.

Cold as she was, she stayed there a long time, as though to assure Tree that she would always be by his side. Finally she turned and was walking slowly toward the convent when she was overcome with the sensation that Tree was gone. She made her way back as fast as the snow allowed, struggling for the second time that day up the slope that led to the clearing. But there was Tree, proud and tall against the fading light.

Still, the awful feeling that Tree had been damaged somehow by the storm wouldn't go away. She began to worry more and more about Tree's health. After a severe winter a tree could look healthy for a while, but it might well be vulnerable to being toppled, like the big trees that had fallen that winter. In fact, one more harsh winter might do Tree in.

After all, no matter how well he looked, he was very old for a Norway spruce.

Day after day she visited Tree, studying him from every angle. He looked so strong and powerful, she couldn't imagine that he could be weak inside. But she couldn't ignore all the trees lying on the ground, trees that had seemed invulnerable before the storm that were now split open, splintered into pieces. She knew she couldn't stand to see her friend come to such an end.