About a week ago, this started happening on my front porch. My teeny, tiny front porch. I thought it was Mama Weather, because we all know how pms-y she’s been lately. I took my broom and swept it away.
The next day, it was back. Now I’m thinking — dang those ornery racoons. You might think that is presumptuous of me. Nuh unh. They’ve been feasting on squash seeds out of my compost bin for the last three nights. They just slide back that lid smooth as you please, and party hardy. I took my broom and swept it away.
The next day, I stepped over it in total denial. Total. Denial.
This morning, I decided to head to the mall for
story plotting shopping. What? I can multi-task. I walked out the door and saw this —
And this —
And this —
The birds are coming for me, and they’re planning on moving in, staying on, taking over, pecking my plot right out of my brains…
I know. You can’t get past the fact that my porch light has not seen the cleaning that is Spring.
Get past it.
The Birds are coming, I tell you. Coming.
Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds is one of my favorite films. The man could do tension. The man could do thrills and chills. The man was brilliant.
This is my favorite trailer for The Birds.