After 15 seconds and as I was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of our refugee locale, we heard the freight train go over the house. We felt the air being sucked out of the building and a sort of shriek. That was it. (The smartass question - What did tornadoes sound like before freight trains?) We lost a tree and a half at Camp Swampy and one of the dwarf apple trees in the side yard is now canted at a 60 degree angle. One neighbor lost the roof to one of his outbuildings, about 40 ft x 120 ft. He said it took off in one piece like a sail. It was an exiting night. For around here.
The thing about tornadoes is that, like the rain, they happen to both the wicked and the holy. Except that they do seem to pick on unsecured mobile homes, don't they? I am sure that both wicked and holy people live in trailers.
Had another stress dream last night. No Tom Cruise. No Space Opera. Just another of those backstage-opera-near-tragedy dreams. Sweetie said I woke him with my wriggling and mumbling. He told me that I said, "You're not sewing it right!"
I remember it being one of those long, tedious, all-night-long dreams. I was in charge (?) of costumes for a big opera, name unknown. I seem to recall that I spent sleepless days working on the wardrobe (with side trips to search for snaps and boning) and, just before the buzzer, everything was done on time and beautifully. If I do say so myself. There were Scarlet Pimpernel style tailcoats in dark green wool. Oh yah, leprechauns.
I've named the lovely brown, I think female baby "Ginger." She is living inside with Murgie and Heizen.
All the other bunnies have been sent to the front porch gulag. They love daffydils.
This is the green angora that I have been drumcarding.
