Whirlwind

A stuffed camel and cigarette butts litter the little dirt road. The winds last night whirled at so many miles per hour and now the place where our house once stood is empty. The sun that shines through dull, gray clouds barely illuminates the tragedy. Waste covers the entire road from here to the post office on the other side of town. That and cigarette butts. As we all ventured out to survey the damage last night, the only thing we could see was the glowing lights from all the smokes. Somehow those managed to make it through. With nothing else to do until morning, and after everyone was safely accounted for, Roger the postman pulled out his little harmonica and the town took to singing. But no sad songs hailed the night...we built a bonfire out of the rubble, the wood probably pieces of Maybury's house since it had purple paint on it. We littered the ground with cigarette butts, ash, and worries. This morning we all see the stuffed camel and bunny and bear strewn amid the mud and ruin. The camel has a footprint on it. Last night it was just another piece of the darkened street, but now as we survey our small world--torn, shred and violated--it is a child's lost toy.