Have A Happy, Horsey Halloween

You can read more about the stupendous, seasonal painting of this very sweet, pretty, and obviously supernaturally patient pony appropriately called Raven over at the site of the person who actually did all the hard artwork rather than just, like yours truly, lazily pinching her cool photos because I simply cannot resist the opportunity to post a demon horse on this All Hallows' Eve:

https://www.facebook.com/notes/knot-just-rope/learn-more-about-knot-just-ropes-skeleton-horse/10152302769845760

Doesn't the sight of this skeleton horse make you want to throw a saddle on it, put a voluminous, black cape around your own shoulders, mount up and go galloping though a dark and stormy night whilst laughing maniacally?

And imagine if some little kid happened to look out the window...

Loco-motion

The Xmas rush, rush, rush is upon us at the Arvo Job. It's nuts. The days are long and stacked high with deadlines. There aren't too many writerly thoughts in my head at the moment. It's just keep moving, full steam ahead, chugging through the dreary tunnel of endless tasks, don't stop until I burst out into the light at the other end.

And then, by golly, I shall write again.

Left behind?

Well, it's 18.20 and there's still no sign of Arnie...

I might as well unpack my bags and go bake some bread.

Pets, punches and Polly

This morning, since the world hadn't ended yet (of course, despite the doubters, I can't be utterly sure until 6pm, but I'm sort of thinking that I'll get a heads up if the Apocalypse is making its way around the globe as each region turns into the 6pm doomsday time slot) I went into town and gleefully paid a trained professional to torture one of my cats. At least I'm sure that's how Polly interprets our visit to the vet. As far as she's concerned, the next 5 days of saline washes, antibiotics, and confinement to the writing room will be the equivalent of a thousand years of fire and brimstone.

Apropos animals and this latest of EOWs, I'm impressed by this bit of capitalist exploitation reported in one of the links:

An enterprising New York business is offering to take care of the cats and dogs of those who believe that their Lord will take them to heaven without their pets.

My antipathy towards Doomsday mongers goes way back - when I was a little girl, a man lugging a sandwich board accosted me while I was outside playing and preached a loud and fiery message about my worthlessness and my heavy burden of mortal sins (many of which I didn't understand - I was 8 years old! - but I remembered and understood later) and explained what was in store for me in glorious detail. He scared the beejeezus out of me until he was shooed off, and I had nightmares for weeks after.

I know now that he probably had mental health problems, but nonetheless, I've always wanted to hunt him down and punch him in the nose for picking on a little girl like that.

Signs of Sunday: Religious Festivals (1)