Surbuban Magic

Placed strategically close to suburban hedgerows, elderly backyard mavens nourish generations of groundhogs. Daily the grass is seeded with 'Puffcorn Delites,' bought wholesale from Costco, An elderly lady died last year. I see her at night, as I take out the trash; a small possum-like shadow. The ladies seem to me to grow more like the marmots, and I wonder if I will ‘turn’ any time soon. I think I could live quite comfortably as a whistle-pig. I dreamed that the widowed ladies had put a spell upon our local critters. By some manner of black-arts had married themselves to woodchucks and other medium sized mammals. The late bewitched Mr. Mason has dug a cubby hole from which he peers myopically each evening. Archie Smith stays amid the shrubbery where he can read the odd moonlit almanac. Fred scratches his head with a rear claw contemplating eternal vows. They show up at mealtimes. Furred paws in tartan slippers shuffle at back doors. Herbal tobacco scents night airs. A grey whiskered fuzziness permeates the Autumnal evening. Do I wake or sleep? The widows lay their heads near to this enchanted nether land; snore in harmony with their nearby furry loves. All here snuggle close to the roots of this mist conjuring season.