the wind is whipping the trees around and you can here it slosh through the crevices in the doors. The wind chimes are clanging repeatedly with no rhythm and I am laying on the couch with a wee bit of bandwidth, typing this post. My husband just brought in some slippery elm wood to see how it will burn, he and his buddies have almost finished loading the woodshed for the winter ahead. My little cat Honey Bunny has been meowing like a fiend all afternoon, I thought she was hungry, but soon after I fed her, she was back at it, Meoww, she still misses Tazz. Tazz, our black cat, passed away in July and neither Honey Bunny, nor I, are over it. I just can’t believe I’ll never see him again. The denial part still sinks in, ‘Oh, he will be back…isn’t that him walking through the kitchen now.’
Other than that, today we have 4 signs out front promoting the democratic candidates in our area and the ban on fracking. I arrived home from the library and shopping at 2 to see the signs all nicely aligned out front. I caved in at the store and bought a decorative element for the front window this Halloween, a ceramic crow with his head cocked back looking over his shoulder. He is sitting up there waiting for the pumpkin I’m going to decorate tonight after I rustle up the lamb chops for supper.
My own Freudian analysis of the crow purchase is this: I have spent the last 2 months hearing the game Angry Birds as a back drop to my evening reading and I have been busy watching the new and improved pigeon hobby of my husband’s take flight: the purchase of the birds; construction of their flight pens; and purchase of their antibiotics and feed. It makes sense I’d want some little bird of my own. And then of course, there is Tazz, my first Halloween without his glowing green eyes since 1993 and the poem I quoted at the end of the summer about Edgar Allen Poe’s sweet Lenore: “Thus quoth The Raven: Nevermore, Nevermore.”
“Ah but it is the nature of things.” my husband will say after reading this.