The Work Of Maneki-neko

Dark and early, the storm struck. Thunder, overhead, close enough to knock birds from perches; the window panes flex, but hold to their frames, and rain is burst from rift heavens.

Baby and Grandad don't shift or twitch, they must be in some other world. No booming there, only snoring.

When Granma gets out of bed, she needs coffee.

Everyone talks about the storm. The fear of God is rediscovered.

'I thought the world was ending,' Girl says, 'I thought, those damn Mayans got the date wrong- it's today!' She pulls that face where her eyes are two glazed earthenware saucers.

The end of the year is close, I am thinking, what sort of reality should I like to live in next: how should the 2013 world look?

On the wide wood of our windowsill, the beckoning cat keeps busy, hustling luck from silver clouded sky, arm clicking like a metronome.

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Contact Pants Conundrum

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A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack: Lisa Southard

Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

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