Relative Something

We did not get through the rest of the overnight Thursday without suffering wind damage. Cyndie counted at least 9 trees that toppled across our trails, a couple of which put serious pressure on fences.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

As I rolled my car to the end of our driveway in the early morning darkness, I spotted something out in the middle of the road that at first had me thinking it was a raccoon. Closer inspection revealed it to be our mailbox. The wind had pushed it right off the sliding guides of the base.

I picked up the mailbox and slid it back into position, wondering if it would just slip off again in the next powerful gust. (It didn’t.)

A mile or two down the road, I came to a giant tangle of tree branches completely covering both lanes. I was able to steer around it by driving off the pavement and rolling over a few small branches. The rest of the commute was free of any disruptions.

When Cyndie completed her survey of the corners of our property, she returned to find the tragic scene near the front door of the house.

Brings to mind the meme that circulated for a while after some big storms were ravaging the country: “We will rebuild.”

That’s humorous in this case because neither of us has made an effort to even tip it back up on its’ feet yet. Apparently, our rebuilding doesn’t start right away.

.

.