The trees look sad and wilted over.
Broken and mangled.
Awkward and bent. Droopy and still.
Some try to stand tall, others fall.
The weight is too great to bare for some and pieces crack, brake and fall  off around them like flowers placed around a grave, forever encased in a sparkly crystal coffin.
When the weak ones fall, with anger they drag down the other trees, shrubs and branches and leave a path of destruction around and behind them.
The rest of the trees pitty the poor little houses that by fate and misfortune lay in their way, being crushed under the weight of the weaker ones.
When the snow clears and the ice melts away, will they ever stand as tall as they did again?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Nobody will know until the storm has passed and settled and spring has rounded the corner.
Most will continue to bloom beautifully.
Others will remain in the misshapen, broken state that winter left them in.
Over time, prettier and stronger trees will grow around the broken and weak and cover them until they aren't noticeable anymore. Leaving the forest looking pretty; from the outside. But inside, it is hurting and crying out for mercy.