S*#% is Coming

The white junk that must not be named is coming, and I didn’t need any mystical signs to tell me so.  It was actually a piece of calico covering the Fresh Eggs sign that hangs over the cooler – normally loaded with an honor box and recycled, fabric-covered cartons of large brown eggs – at the end of the town road that signaled that the town’s poultry population has moved into winter production mode.

Okay, maybe a fat quarter is a pretty mystical signal.  Either way, it looks like S*%@ is coming.

 

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