Recipe for Muse Soup

On my way back from New Jersey this weekend I heard that the area I live in had been under its second tornado watch in two weeks. This does not bode well for I am a firm believer in the rule of three. So far, both the barn and the house are standing.

I'm still waiting to see Flying Monkeys arrive.

After I got back I walked around the cemetery with a beer in hand to see if the place had gotten ripped up at all.

There were no limbs down. No trees broken off at their ankles as their sometimes are.

I'm very respectful of the dead when I'm over there. If there are flowers overturned or something out of place, I tend to put it back. I make sure the kids are respectful too - not bothering the many things that people sometimes leave there. And people leave things there all right. Baseballs or stuffed animals for stillborn infants. Cards or photographs for husbands and wives long gone. Someone once even left a metal military helicopter for a buried veteran.

But what I found there over the weekend was a note tucked into a plastic ziplock baggie in the middle of the paved road. It only had a single name to the addressee, so I have no way of knowing where exactly it came from.

This note was obviously meant for the dead. As I stood there in the cemetery, beer in hand, sun setting behind me, it made the hair stand up on my arms.

I LOVE that. =)

But I figured I'd let you read it now.

Inspiration comes to the muse from everywhere it seems.



Tune in tomorrow for a new rant... "Dear General Public: I'm done with you."