Hallelujah
The ghost of Handel visited our backyard a few morns ago.
It happened while I was out there hand snatching turd-age from the deep grass with a plastic grocery bag as a mitt. You know the feeling, like when you were a kid on Halloween, blindfolded in the neighbor’s garage and directed to touch something gross and gooey and then guess what it was. Even with a Safeway prophylactic the tactile sensation is much the same. Moreso if there’s a hole in it, and the turd-age is still steamy fresh. Oh, la joie.
And then all of sudden I look up, behold the rising mist, hear the chorus of Messiah.
Such events cannot be predicted, only enjoyed.