What do you do when your dream comes true?

 

Believe it or not I have had to reckon with this conundrum. Dreams may be different when they come true, but they are still dreams come true.

And so, when I finally photographed the mythical, and magical, and miraculous albino squirrel, I mean, after the elation died down a bit, I had to take a breath and say to myself

“Now what?”

I wandered on. I headed up the road. I saw some squirrels. Cute, friendly squirrels, but just the regular brown kind. I couldn’t get interested.

I came to some fading flowers.

I took a few desultory pictures. Here’s one:
  

Then, while poking around this flower patch I noticed something odd in the background.

A hummingbird!

I have never managed to get a picture of a hummingbird. They’re not so common here as where I grew up. It was just sitting there, in the bushes, behind the flowers.

I took one picture and it flew away before I could get another.

 

I came across my dear friends the turkeys:

 

 

I saw a bee.

 

And then, walking along, I encountered, yet again, for the thousandth time, a regular old brown squirrel.

Okay. I’m ready.

 

 

 

I don’t know why I’m putting these here. Maybe because they’re strange, very strange, and the format is unobstructed here so I can post them simply and… slip away.

 

I was at the Mall the other day. Which Mall?

The Mall.

There is only one Mall.

 

And in my spare moments I took pictures of Mannequins, feeling they might be useful in my…

um

Photographic work.

 

They weren’t. Well, they were. Well, they weren’t. You decide.

 

 

Here then is how they weren’t useful. Brace yourself. 

It can be a little disconcerting.

 

 

Mona Lisa getting her library card:

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Birdlady in the city.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Dan at the Mall
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Inquiring at the front desk as to whether we have any books on the family “Cervidae”.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A gentleperson drifting through time to our service desk.

 

Shocking, blood curdling story about Ursula K. Le Guin!

 Sorry, that’s actually Katherine Hepburn. I don’t happen to have a picture of Ursula K. Le Guin on hand.

Er, also I don’t have any shocking story. But the story behind the title is fascinating and amazing!

Well, actually it’s not.

What say we cut to another picture while we collect all of our thoughts and expectations.
 

Accordion music is so soothing.

And now that we’re all calmed down I can explain why I tricked you into reading this with my astonishing clickbait headline.

Oh, I didn’t trick you into reading this with my astonishing clickbait headline?

Do you think it would have worked better with “Shocking, blood curdling story about Terry Pratchett!”?

You were planning on reading it anyway?

Hmm, clearly I must be doing something wrong.
 

While I sit here thinking of clickbait titles like Charlie Brown trying to kick a football might I recommend you head to the library of Life is a Fountain?

We’ve had a lot of interesting visitors lately.

Library

“So, er, you’d like to check these out?” I inquire.

 

“No.” He replies drolly, almost like I’m an idiot. “These are items I’d like to donate.” He has an English accent and a distinct way of pronouncing his words.

“I’m sorry.” I say. “I can’t explain it, but we are temporarily not accepting donations.” I really can’t explain it because none of it makes any sense. Why aren’t we accepting donations?

“The blue potion in particular will bring great success to your institution.” He says in his emphatic, yet slightly sinister way.

“Would I have to drink it?” I ask curiously.

“I’m afraid so.” He says in a way that suggests I’ve stumbled upon the down side of the opportunity.

“I really do wish we could take them.” I say. “The scrap of paper looks like it could be a particular boon to our collection.”

He gives me an assessing look. “That it would be.” He says with an air of compelling and disturbing mystery. “It would be indeed.”

“Anything else I could help you with today?” I ask brightly.

“No.” He replies.

 

Pick out something you’d like for yourself:
Crossroads