I was mesmerised. The excavator seemed to have a life of its own, moving like a lumbering, thoughtful, surprisingly dexterous and occasionally clumsy monster. It carefully, and with great attention to detail, arranged the house's remains into piles of wood, metal, organic and brick, much like how some people like to keep the different types of food on their plate separate.
It froze in embarrassment when it accidentally knocked down part of the neighbour's wall. It growled quietly to itself as it went about its work, and dozed in the sun at lunchtime. Distressingly for me, it pulled up the tree next to the house, which I loved to watch from my window as starlings, sparrows and other small birds flitted through it in the afternoons. Now there's just a large expanse of dirt, extending the backyard of the dreadlocked man who lives on the other side of it. I don't think he minds though, as he now has much more room to practice his firetwirling in the middle of the night. So at least I still have something pretty to look at.
