Outside my window, a Japanese maple gave of itself for thirty years – even after the ice storm ten winters ago. Every fall as it lost its ruby leaves, I mourned looking out at silence, the romance of fluttering red taffeta – gone. I thought the tree would go on forever. In heaven, there’s a Japanese maple singing zydeco. They better take care of that gutsy tree. It was good to me. I purchased a second Japanese maple, and wouldn’t ya know, when the wind picks up, I hear zydeco.