Corona Borealis, My Heart

Hers is a mind that knows nothing of spreadsheets and billables and contracts. As I stood there watching corn silk hair waft about in the wind, I told myself this is as it should be.

A mind like the second coming of the Hope Diamond, sharp, brilliant and captivating. Me, I felt dull and lifeless next to her. Picture a comet on the outbound swing of its trajectory. Time and distance pile up and the sphere of ice and rock grows colder and dimmer, the glory of its tail fading into the intergalactic black. The comet is servant to gravity, and the sun doesn’t know its own strength. It gazes upon those who orbit with the wonder of a child, fascinated and reaching out with invisible arms to pull them in.

Just like me, that sunny fall day in a small patch of pumpkins. She carries her treasure, confident it is the finest in the field, and I cannot refute her claim. The sun clutches the orangey globe, a solar presence writ in miniature.

The wind kicks up, hay and leaves awhirl around the shining brow of my queen. She turns to me with that megawatt smile, her eyes wide open and gazing at me. My heart leaps, the Universe unfolds around me as her gravity pulls me in. I dive headfirst into an azure sky studded with diamonds. She laughs as a crown of light rises from her brow, into the blue…

…My God, she’s full of stars…

Squirrels Are A***holes

All right, that’s IT! I have HAD IT! This means WAR! Let’s get ready to RRRRUUUUMMMMBBBLLLE! It’s time for the all-Elkridge Backyard Squirrel-Smackdown!

Squirrels are getting on my nerves. Frickin’ tree rats! This time they chewed a big, BIG hole in the 19-pound pumpkin that the Wee Lass and I picked out at Larriland Farm last Friday. Plus, they have been nibbling on the four smaller ones we got that same day. Wee Lass even sustained an injury to get this humungoid pumpkin (humungoid relative to the lass, anyway). She was trying to follow me out of the pumpkin patch, tried to run and tripped on a cluster of pumpkin vines. I turned around just in time to see her do a face plant into the leaves. Two beats of silence, then a steady high-pitched wail as she flailed around amongst the pumpkins. I extracted her from the plant she had fallen on and in which she was entangled. I stood her up, brushed her off and smooched the tears away. We didn’t notice the scratches until after we later finished picking some apples. Following me out of a row of apple trees, she said “Daddy, there’s something wrong with my face!” Sure enough, there were some little red welts on her nose and cheek. So I think we more than deserved to get our punkin’ on!

The pumpkin was out on the back deck in preparation for carving this weekend. We thought it was okay, but something made The Spouse look out the back door this morning. AAIIGGHH! OHMYGOD,THEHORROR!THEHORROR!

THE VICTIM.

Pumpkin fragments strewn across the deck, and a double fist sized hole in the side! Those little bastards bored into the pumpkin looking for seeds! So not only did they hate on my Halloween Jack O’ L, the little bags of scrofula secured their place on my s***list as competition for a food source! This isn’t the first time. I have been trying to grow tomatoes for a few years running. This year I had some nice ‘mater plants on the grow, including a lone precious Brandywine (possibly the Best ‘Mater on the Planet), and they stole about half the ones I could get to set. In all fairness, they left the cucumbers alone.

This means war. Not firearms kinda war. County regs prohibit THAT, plus my neighbors might be concerned about the loud bangs. No, it’s going to be sneakier than guns. It’s October and the ‘mater plants are dying off anyway. Winter is on the way, and I’ll have a few months to plot my revenge. I’ll take the organic route, no explosives or nasty poison. I don’t really want to HURT them, just serve notice that my deck ain’t no damn salad bar.

I know: habanero pepper juice mixed with Ex-Lax. Squirrels, I’m pullin’ your card!

THE PERP.