Autumn is coming, the goose is getting fat. The College of Art kids have moved back into their dorm on my street and spend their days passing hither and yon outside my front door. They are quiet and respectful and have captivating hair. Most of the boys are as thin as I am, or thinner. Perhaps I missed my calling to go to art school. I would have made a terrible artist, but I would have looked fabulous in a beret.

So what is it about ghosts, then? I’ve encountered a few, which I’ve documented in other sections of this site: in slaves’ quarters and murder scenes. Energy is everywhere, like butter and geraniums. (I hate geraniums, but Rob likes them.) Sometimes I go to this site to look at ghost photos with labels such as “Haunted by a Head!” and “Man with Tall Hair Seen!” and “Demon or Ghost on his Knees?” Ghosts spend an awful lot of time looking out windows, if you ask me. I don’t suppose they have much else to do. Maybe the ones who are thin enough can go to art school, but the rest are virtual shut-ins with green faces and wide eyes.

I like being married.