Good Night Irene....

New York City was prepared to face Irene. When it turned out not to be a worst case scenario, some people complained that too much fuss was made--they hadn't been to New Orleans. But Irene caused floods near Philly and some bad stuff on the east coast farther south.  In Montreal it was sufficiently blustery,  but Trudeau Airport was open and running and I left for Geneva late Sunday afternoon. 

This poem posted on Poetry.org is a different take on the aftermath of a hurricane.  You can read it a dozen more times and keep reading into it.  This poet is for real.

The Hurricane

by William Carlos Williams

The tree lay down
on the garage roof
and stretched, You 
have your heaven,
it said, go to it.

The battered tree is chilling out on the roof, enjoying its new-found freedom, basking in it.  It could be....silver lining of a hurricane....complete acceptance of unexpected fate....the desired recumbent position after a lifetime upright....the tree has been ravished by the hurricane and is in post-ravishment bliss....

And why are we hearing advice from a fallen tree? Is it a wise old oak? 

Are we less aware, more foolish than dead wood and should we tune into trees? 
Does he identify with the tree? Is he tired of being a doctor?
Does the tree simply want to be left alone and not be sawed up into logs and kindling?
Is this a joke on himself?

Reminds me of his poem-note on a bowl of plums. "This is just to say".  
Coy, complete and open to interpretation. http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/wcw.plums.html 
                                                                                   

PS I don't have a hard copy of the poem to compare--wondering about the comma after stretched.