Northeasterly

Soren granted each of his neighbors a hall pass for being two-faced; what they accepted as his "yard art" facing forward was an eyesore and a bother directly behind. He thanked them for their patience and was helpful and kind in other ways, begging their tolerance. "They don't know her like I know her," he would whisper (when he put a new piece out and saw them exchange looks). The spring breeze had taught him her favorite places in the yard; the summer gusts withered all of the flowers she didn't like (or tore them out of the ground directly); the autumn drivers put not-too-fine a point on it that she'd have none of his malarkey. And now ... now as winter came on and the northeasterlies built out there in the ocean, Soren was ready. "Come on then," he called to her (looking back over his shoulder as he picked his way back from the lighthouse). "It's all right." Her first visit, she arrived bitter and hangry from a swell off of the coast of Japan, screaming into the ocean and throwing rocks and trees about. But there was no damage to Soren's property (unlike the others'), because she'd found the chimes and spinning whirligigs intriguing. He'd sat on the porch and watched her play and grow calm. "Gotta keep making more things, though," he sighed to himself. "She's bored easily." So he managed the neighbors and continued to create; he had a mind to mount a ball maze (caged, so the thing couldn't be thrown into windows at random) that she could play like pinball. It was that or risk her, full-force ... and Soren was pretty sure she could kill them all.