Once the storm subsides, the truck shifts one last time, falling about six feet farther into the barn and ending up nearly perpendicular to the floor, its bed barely protruding from the roof. As gasoline pours forth from its tanks, a severed electrical line sparks a fire. Soon the entire barn is engulfed in flames, and the great tree, his leaves still moist from the earlier shower, and his days of solemn oversight now behind him, disappears slowly in a makeshift funeral pyre, while the wind chimes jingle across the way.