The Remnants of Hurricane Beryl - Making it Disappear (a writing prompt piece)

My crimson, turquoise, lavender, yellow, and green twinkle lights died a tumultuous death during Hurricane Beryl, having been wrenched, yanked and twisted in 100 mph winds. My comfy, brown-tweed glider, in which I spent many hours rocking, watching the pelicans fly overhead, and thinking peaceful thoughts had acquired a dank, green mold, covering it like slime on a pond. The plants that showered me with glorious blooms of pinks, purples, and whites drowned, like rats in the sewer. Everything on my once-beautiful, peaceful patio was dead. So, today is the day I make it all disappear.

What a ceremony! I pull my little pink wagon around to the patio and place it strategically under the railing. Next, I use my piano stool to climb up high enough to reach all the hooks that are grasping desperately to the lights as if to say, "No, no, we don't want them to go." Then, I begin yanking and tossing everything down to the waiting pink mouth, eager to swallow the rusted, water-logged, and mildewed detritus. 

Plunk! Plunk! Crash! The crunch of the wooden rocker slamming into the ground make sounds like bones breaking on a ski slope. 

Oh no! Even my hummingbird feeder is moldy! I decide to bring it in the house and try washing it first! That one stays. 

The bright, beautiful, blue and white pelican standing as tall as a soldier on duty, now has rusted metal feet. "Maybe I can rescue him, too," I say. "He stays. The wind chimes stay as well." 

Two of my plants thrust out long green arms as if to say, "Hey, look. We're still growing and will soon bring you new blooms!" They stay.

I continue to pull off the rest of the diseased plants, pots, hanging baubles, and rusted beach-themed ornaments and drop them one by one into the waiting, pink wagon. Next, I sweep the broken palm tree limbs, pieces of black roof tiles, dirt, and mud off the porch.

Finally, I lug the wagon, loaded with the rocker smashed on top cementing everything down, to the trash bin and send them all to their final resting place. "You gave me joy, " I say as I sadly walk away. "Thank you for that."

As I near my apartment, I hear the melodious tinkling of my wind chime as if to say, "All is well," 

"It's only stuff," I say. "Stuff can be replaced. My loved ones are safe, that's what's important." 

So goodbye Hurricane Beryl and hello to a fresh, new patio to come!