Sunday Morning, Odd-Style

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.

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