No idea who built this but it’s uncannily aligned to follow the path of clouds in the shape of snow shovels.

Fearsome signs of big foot and/or Bigfoot.

And not that we were speaking of squirrels but I can’t help wondering why their nests don’t fall out of trees in high winds yet I once found our very solid steel patio chair in the pool…

As if that’s not enough to be curious about for one morning, there is also the mystery of the Seemingly Forever Idling Car in the Driveway, which, when I loop the block and pass by again a full ten minutes later, there it sits, still idling and spewing gunk from its exhaust. This kind of thing is Exhibit ‘A’ in my case for increasing oil prices by at least 300 percent (with all those ‘extra’ profits going into cleaning up the mess oil makes in the first place).

But the biggest unexplainable is how, later, I find myself at the beach on this gloriously windy day, all set to snap some wild and wooly waves only to have my camera tell me its batteries need changing. And I haven’t brought any spares.

Nuts.

Because the waves are BIG alright, and beautiful too, but even better than that there’s a madwoman, madder even than me, also with a camera, who walks a few metres out onto the pier against which the lake is slapping and sloshing something fierce, which is what she’s shooting. And probably getting some brilliant shots. But it’s completely crazy to take the chance. The pier’s not wide and the waves not always predictable where they come up over the side. I can’t take my eyes off her and steel myself for action if necessary, locate the bright orange life saver near the “At Your Own Risk” sign. I exhale only when she starts walking back, all annoyingly calm and smug.

By now I’ve convinced myself I don’t want photos of stupid waves anyway. But I’m sorry I’m not able to take a picture of her.

The one picture I take before my camera dies is this.

Your guess is as good as mine.