The Hoodoo

Day 32: Let's call it "garden art," okay? Don't assume that because it faces two neighbours who continue to display banners for the defeated presidential candidate, one of whom also flies a Confederate flag and spends his days sitting outside his clapped-out, tarp-covered Winnebago with a .45 on his lap that I harbour any ill will toward said neighbours. It's an art installation, just as surely as the faded plastic figures on their plots of land. We will ignore for the moment the fact that I have any connections with the Aborigines of Australia, and that I am a scientist who disdains any sort of mumbo-jumbo, but as I mentioned when I lit incense before my mother's figure of Ganesh, it never hurts to hedge your bets. The fox skull was a roadside find, determined not to be a small coyote by the shape of the sagittal crest. It had not been on the ground long enough to be lichenized, but nevertheless, I bleached it thoroughly before handling it to create the ornament. Crow and Raven feathers are of course found frequently in my yard, although these came to me in a more timely manner than usual; I might say, almost upon request. Crows being the opportunists that they are, I could not have refused these gifts when they were laid at my feet.