Almost three dozen people drowned. In North Carolina, people were rescued from the second story of their homes. Residents of New Jersey have had to boil tap water for three to five minute to avoid infection. Basements are flooded all over Westchester.

I am truly empathetic with all the persons and families that have been struck by Hurricane Floyd, which hit Long Island on Thursday, Sept. 16.

Lorraine and I got reacquainted under candlelight and flashlight when our electricity failed. It went out at 3:05 p.m. (according to our stopped clocks) and didn't return until 2:40 a.m. We spent almost 23 hours without the benefits of our modern appliances.

Let me now relate the sad story of my personal encounter with the previously mentioned Mr. Floyd. (I miss the days when hurricane and tropical storms all bore the feminine nomenclature. Flossie or Flora would denote, to me, a more tempestuous personality.)

Since we did not have light or heat, we entered our automobile (gas-driven) and drove to Ben's Delicatessen in the Waldbaum's Shopping Center in Jericho. The time was about 5:45 p.m. The winds were swirling with great gusts as we left the darkened Hamlet. We hoped that Ben's Deli would be open.

It was! We entered an empty dining room and enjoyed a lovely meal. Lorraine ordered half a roast chicken and I ordered the brisket. The pickles and cole slaw added to our enjoyment. The meal gave us a feeling of normality which made us feel safe.

On our return home, we saw that we, too, were victims of Floyd's malevolence. The beautiful tree in front of our house had split and sent a huge branch crashing onto our walkway. We could not enter the house. The garage door openers were useless.

Climbing over the downed tree was equivalent to a jungle movie. Pushing leaves and branches aside, we were able to reach our door and enter the still dark home.

The time was 6:45 p.m. In that one hour, Floyd broke apart the tree. We could have been crushed as we left, but we were safe.

The next morning I surveyed what was left of my tree. It was planted 10 years ago as a sapling and I had seen it grow and prosper. It still had the ring of purple and white impatiens surrounding the trunk.

If one could have an affinity for an object, I had a crush on that tree.

Could it be saved?

Was the wound life-threatening?

Did Floyd deliver a lethal blow?

The tree surgeon came and delivered the judgment. Lorraine and I waited with suspense and trepidation.

"The tree is dangerous," he said.

"It could split again in a strong wind."

"People could be hurt."

"Take it down" was our decision. Grandchildren and neighbors' children might be harmed.

Amongst the buzzing of the gas saws, our tree disappeared.

The ring of impatiens now surround a three-inch-high stump.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But we sure are going to miss that tree.

(Apologies to Joyce Kilmer)