The wind blew crisp and chilly gusts over the inbetwix landscape, neither winter nor spring. If we can have an Indian Summer, can there be an Artic Spring? Still robins hopped eternally hopeful that worms will peek above the sodden cold ground to provide an afternoon snack. I'm reminded what a small town it is when young yell from pick-up trucks though their final message was snatched and tumbled with the wind. All I really heard was "........CAMERA.......lady." I will take the position it was something nice.
After driving slowly and finding a hidden garden never seen before, I drove further afield to Pike Road, made famous by Tim Burton in "Big Fish." Old abandoned stores cluster in spots in juxtaposition with large homes and sturdy horses. It makes me wonder what the area looked like even 60 years ago. Vines overtake and reclaim - evidence of a life gone by. I imagine writing southern gothic novels set in the flattened meadows and decayed buildings. Soon, this too will be overtaken with so called progress as the city sprawls madly and drunkenly south and east.
In other news, I found the cat's last hiding place and now he sits at the top of the stairs meowing at me while the dogs turn their heads listening to the strange noise. My brother's allergies are kicking up as he nicely deals with the fact even the basement may not be far enough away for a cat. But, I'm happy that I can pet and hold my boy for brief periods of time as I sit on the steps with him, adjusting to the new surroundings. There are times I still want to sit in the corner too.