It’s been an unusually quiet Sunday morning here. I’m sitting in the garden, reading The Black Doll by Edward Gorey and sipping coffee.
There is a troupe of nearly iridescent yellow spider-type creatures creating a complicated tower of legs.
The gentle wind whispering through Brooklyn portends of autumn. Which explains my midnight cravings for pumpkin.
It also explains why Bubo keeps appearing with a different mask on. She does love Halloween.
