Fletcher and Grand


Anton Pieck

The green house on Fletcher and Grand has a mudroom.

You would think that a mudroom would be dark and maybe a little dank or moldy, but I’ve been told by a few people  this mudroom is none of those things.

The window in the mudroom catches the morning sun and at night the street lights cast a pale orange glow through the small panes of glass and when you open the door there is always a nice sweet smelling breeze that blows into the little room and it hangs in the air for a few seconds before it disappears.

Mrs. Longmuir, the lady who owns the green house on Fletcher and Grand dresses a little frowzy on her dusting days, but for the rest of the week she is a lot like her mudroom- she looks simple, neat and when she walks she has a little bounce in her step which is surprising because she is well into her 70’s.

I used to walk my dog by her place just after 6:00 and she was usually out in her yard then, puttering around her rose bushes. She wore one of those big gardening hats and her gloves matched the fabric around the brim of her hat.

I would slow down and wave hello, my dog would always pull a little harder on his leash to get us going again and Mrs Longmuir would wave her pruning shears at us.

One evening I strolled by without my dog. He was at the groomers and I was taking a little walk to kill some time before I had to pick him up.

Mrs. Longmuir asked me if I would help her take some of the flowers she had just cut-

” Dear, ” she said ” would you mind helping me to take some of these flowers into my murder room? ”

I saw a bunch of cut roses at the door in a basket and in Mrs. Longmuir’s gloved hand she wasn’t holding her gardening shears. She was holding a pair of long gleaming scissors.

I stopped. I could not take my eyes off of the scissors.

She snapped them opened and close exactly two times.

” My dog.” I said, ” My dog got loose. I’m trying to find him. I’m sorry, I have to -”

” I see, ” she said with a bright and sunny smile and when she started to assure me maybe I could stop by later and help her take her flowers in she would say ‘ mudroom’ this time.

” That would be lovely, ” she said ” if you could help me take my roses into my murder room. That room needs a little cheering up and I’d like to feed sooner rather then later.

She opened and snapped her scissors closed twice and I never walked by the Green House on Fletcher and Grand again.

Mi Casa Embrujada


The White Garden in the Moonlight, Gerberoy (ca. 1925-1930) Henri Le Sidaner


I want to live in a haunted house

with dead flowers at my door

I want the doors to creak and moan

I want to hear the floorboards groan


I want to live in a haunted house

full of ghosts and moldy bones

I want to hear Poe’s Raven

tapping at my chamber door


And if I can’t live in a haunted house

while my heart still pumps and my body is cozy and warm

I can always come back as a fearsome shade

and haunt my newly dark and empty home.

Nature and Humans


Storm Clouds
Karl Nordström1893


Storms are like people-

they crackle, they rage, they roar, they send you to cover

when they turn the world around them dark.


People are like storms

but sometimes people rage and lay waste to the world around them

without making a single sound.


Wadi Rum (‘The Valley of the Moon’) in Jordan