At last the house was quiet. I should've had two hours of uninterrupted solitude coming my way. However, there's nothing like being roused from a mid-morning nap by a sound so shrill it can only be compared to the landing of an air craft carrier. Add to that the shaking and rumbling of the earth's underbelly that moved the house with a sickening thud.
"Dear God,save me!" I wailed, grasping to keep antiques from tumbling to the floor. Except for I don't have any antiques but I grabbed a picture frame and some used candles. I was still groggy and a little bit resentful of losing nap time.
Another loud crash shook the walls, throwing me off balance. It was all I could do to maintain my dignity as I screamed, "The Apocalypse! The Apocalypse is upon us!"
When I looked out the window I saw the mother of all construction toys. She was a beast. The plus size version of the other track hoes. And then...
There they were. The state sponsored squatters. The people who have pitched their cement tents five feet from the house in January and haven't left. They just keep bringing in more and more people and bigger and noisier toys.
And here was the giant of them all. It did the work of 200 men. It stretched to the sky and left tracks in the soil at least 20 feet wide. Eagerly the giant clawed at the ground churning and chucking mounds of dirt.
The Lilliputians cheered as the mother load picked up giant cement pipes and "lowered" them into the black hole. I say "pipes" because they number at least 20 and they have to weigh a couple of tons each. I know because I tried to push one over.
I say "lowered" because it was more like recklessly launching them into the ground. Like a horseshoe. A two ton horseshoe. Swell.
Not one to give up some peace and quiet so readily, I grabbed a book and tried to ignore the ruckus outside, despite the white caps on my coffee.
Maybe next week will be quieter. Maybe next year. Maybe in another county.