Houses, one after another, gone, gone, gone...plus some untouched houses in the foreground. But nice green lawns all up and down the street, and some bushes thriving on those lawns, and, all around, a healthy forest of hardy Aussie eucalyptus.
To get this effect--burning a house without scorching the lawn--the house has to go up like a piece of tissue paper.
Makes me conscious of how many books I own...
UPDATE: The humidity is now so low that swarms of Argentinean Black Ants are coming into our house seeking moisture. You haven't seen surreal until you've seen a white porcelain toilet swarming with black ants. Eat your heart out, Salvador Dali.
3 comments:
Tightly packed books on a shelf are probably not particularly flammable, because there is no air flow. Of course, they'd burn eventually, but kindling they ain't.
That's a comforting thought, Janet. I'll start thinking of them as insulation rather than fuel!
The ants thing is starting to make me a little disappointed to miss this rather depressing episode of surreality...
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