I'm in denial. I'm telling myself that there are no such things as omens. Just wacky coincidences. Wacky coincidences that showed up a day late for the predicted apocalypse.
We went to The Pony's band concert this afternoon. It was a grand exhibition of 6th through 12th grade musicianship. The #1 son acted as a paid photographer with his expensive personal camera. That boy's got more irons in the fire than a blacksmith at a wrought-iron sculptor's convention.
On the way home, just before turning off the county highway, a big bird circled over the road. I'd like to think it was a hawk. Sometimes we see pairs of them circling over the river. But never so low, over the road, as we drove under.
About a half mile farther, having turned from the county highway onto the county road, we passed within five feet of a giant bird. He had been sitting in a yard, but spread his expansive wings and hoisted himself into the air as we passed. He had a red, rubbery head. That's a vulture, in case you're not versed in the ways of Hillmomba.
While hacking up some supper, I amassed a pile of strawberry stems. Farmer H's chickens are always foremost on my mind. They do love a treat tossed off the porch each evening. I took the tops outside and commenced to flinging. When I turned to re-enter the Mansion, I spied a prize. It was courtesy of Ann the shepherd and Tank the beagle, a regular tag team of killers. The gift they had bestowed was a rabbit. Make that one-third of a rabbit. The head and shoulders, to be specific. I don't know why they always start eating the butt first. I think they eat it while it's alive. I caught the cats doing that once. Animals can be so cruel. They're such animals.
I'm sure this trio of wacky coincidences signifies nothing. Nothing at all.