Picking up the pieces

As I said, the rain had weakened dramatically–ultimately to the point that there was none at all, and it remains this way. Mom says this is the eye, but I am not so certain since I have often heard that you can see daylight in the middle of the eye. Anyway, I took advantage of the cessation of rain and took off on foot to explore the place. Dad’s shop was still intact, although the gutter had come off. One of the old ostrich building had taken such a beating by the rain that it now lies in shambles. What’s more, up the now largely treeless road to the guest quarters, the curved metal roof above the old breeder pens is been ripped and mangled and is now largely gone. I continued on down the road to the horse barn and found it largely intact, but the massive mesquite in front of it had been split as though some giant had hacked his axe straight down the middle. And the saddest sight–the saloon’s sliding metal back door had been ripped off and now the rain is pouring in on my grandfather’s old furniture. The rock I had put in front of the building’s ramshackle wooden front door no longer suffices to keep in it place, and I fear it will soon come off. Moreover, the porch above it–never very sturdy–looks ready to give up the ghost and collapse. Indeed, I was afraid of the structure collapsing on top of me while I was repositioning the aforementioned rock. On the way home, a gust of wind literally picked me off my feet and threw me on the ground. Upon returning home, I took Mom for a quick ride in the Mule and I could tell her heart was broken. However, she shows an ability to look on the bright side of things since she just came in from checking the pool house and said, “Well, at least those vines we wanted down are gone.”

She has just yelled to me from the den that the storm is picking up again.

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