Come noon, we are back to tropical heat, but with winds. I found a fallen nest near our house, but without any trace of bird activity (no eggs, no eggshell, no feathers). There are sheep nearby, with one of the lousiest wools I've seen, not the New Zealand kind of fluffy wool, not the stark-white variety. Lots of fallen branches, some of which are lined together by length, mother and son sawing wood, father lining them up, probably as kindling for tonight's supper. Then there are fruits smashed to the ground, then some seed-bearing trees, and the disheveled look of trees and electric posts and the erratic flight of birds, panicky, distressed. The storm becomes this comb scattering some pieces, only to be looked at the same afternoon, and disposed the morning after.
I didn't have the good kind of batteries to power up my camera. They cost too much.