I’m not superstitious. Insane, yes. Superstitious, no. But I have always been creeped out by birds hurtling to their deaths by flailing themselves against windows. It was a thing with my Mom and my Aunt, both of whom considered it a portent. And not a good one. Thus, given my extreme emotional state yesterday, and a confluence of unpleasant physical and mental symptoms of late, and a discussion about the likelihood and method of my death with a loved one recently (this was NOT a discussion about suicide, back off), I was overcome with a new disquiet this morning when I walked onto the back deck, ready to water the plants, and this was waiting.
Not the best way to start one’s day … now, what do I do with it?