Monday, September 26, 2016


Jesse's Birdhouse card

The old man painstakingly painted each wooden home with bright colors.  They were more than birdhouses - they were refuge from the harsh conditions of the modern world.  He decorated them with flowers, radiant blossoms, cheery suns - even butterflies so all would know they were happy homes. The neighbors gazed with pleasure at the bright little birdhouses. Set amongst purple petunias, aromatic geraniums and white verbena they were solid pops of color. They transformed the old tree stump from an eyesore into a work of art.

They were cabins for lost souls, pilfered souls - souls the old man caught in mason jars down at the cemetery.

Birdsong and soul screams sound remarkably alike he'd discovered one cold winter night.

Souls were lower maitenance.

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