A Subjective Prophetic Event

There was an Spruce Tree planted the spring I was born. It was 63 feet tall. I have a picture of it.

Last summer in a windstorm it blew down.

I don't really attach any importance to it any more than the old song:

My grandfather's clock
Was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half
Than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn
Of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.

CHORUS:
Ninety years without slumbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.