The wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind. It burns.

Okay, not so much since I'm inside but while trying to write it's getting a little disconcerting to hear things carried on the howl of the wind crashing against my window. I get it. It's windy. The skinny trees get a beatdown from the west and most of the windows in this big old house are leaky so I'm involved in the storm whether I like it or not with the faint breeze blowing my long hair as I pass by certain rooms.

Here's the thing. Just now, as I'm editing a piece for Bombeck, I'm starting to hear things. Not "red rum" but whispers. I imagine I know what my friend, Barb Mallon the medium, goes through when she's doing readings for people and channeling the dead. It almost tickles the ear and you can't wait to hear the next faint sentence. I don't think I'm nutty (yet) but these woods have a tragic history and it wouldn't be the first time something wicked this way has come so close to my house.

You bet I'm taking notes. Zombies won't last forever. ;)