Tiny trebuchet, sized
for dolls or possibly hobbits,
chucked eggs halfway down the hill.
We counterpoised our second try
with free weights, strong enough
to loft pumpkins.
For a finale we pondered
air cannons to send buckets of paint
soaring into the valley
strangers waking to find
their houses garbed in unfamiliar
technicolor dreamcoats, but
by then we were building
round Mongolian dwellings
out of sticks and string instead.
What the neighbors thought
as gers sprouted like slow mushrooms
atop our hill, we'll never know
as they'll never know
how lucky they are we got bored
and let their house stay blue.
This was written to the 30/30 prompt "valley."
We never really intended to build the air cannon, but it made for fun conversations. (And yes, this is the kind of thing our circle of friends does for fun when we get together -- we make things. For a few years, there were trebuchets.)
Ger is the Mongolian word for what most of us know as a yurt. Starting in 2004, we built one in our backyard every winter with friends for many years. Last year we got one from Mongolia, which has replaced the various iterations we built. (For more on that: Loving the ger, May 2012.)