Months ago, the meditation tower (or the deer-hunting stand) toppled in a raging storm. Tornadoes tore through the Midwest, and the tower was uprooted.

Now, in mid-winter, the tower is covered with snow. We find deer tracks wandering up to it. We meant to raise the tower by now, but did not make time to do it, and then we were spending time in the woods, cutting dead trees down to size to burn, to heat the house this winter.

We used some of that wood earlier this week when a wild winter storm churned across the United States, and we lost power (as thousands did), and had to heat the house with the Buckstove fireplace insert — without the aid of the blower. The temperature in the house hovered around 45 degrees for a day and half, and we cooked on the stove and huddled close to the fire, watching the snow fall outside.

In the winter storm, the large cedar tree near the house cracked under the weight of the wet snow. It cracked once, then cracked again. The top of the tree lies in the snow, the garden fence crushed beneath.

Impermanence. Now you see it — now it’s gone. The book title of graphic designer Martin Venezky’s monograph pops into my mind: “It is beautiful … then gone.”

On NPR a while back, I heard an insightful commentary on “entropy” by Adam Frank (“Life Gives Sight To A Chaotic Universe”) and why an inevitable mess follows the tidying of a desk. Frank says: “Physicists discovered that the universe’s inevitable slide from order to chaos is the forward movement of time. They even have a name for it: entropy.”

Frank concludes his philosophical thoughts with a touch of optimism: “Yes, in time, our lives must give way to entropy’s demand for chaos. But with every act of creation — from the songs we write for collected voices to the meals we bake for our families — we turn back the tide. And for this, we can only imagine, the universe must be grateful.”

When the weather clears, Paula and I will cut down the rest of the cedar tree, chainsaw it down to burn-able chunks, and stack the wood in the barn. And in the cedar’s place, we’re thinking about planting a maple tree.

The power has been restored to our farmhouse, and the occasional car slides down the road outside. There is work to do; there are messes to tidy up again.