There's something really, really big on my creative horizons.
I can just feel it.
It's there, lurking between the five potted herbs on my roof and the name Harkness Mushgrove III. It's weedling into thoughts of Confederate Army uniforms, subterranean civilizations, and needlessly complex linguistics. It's wrapped in a burlap hood, eating a plum sandwich, and galloping across the barren landscapes of my brain on a Gypsy Vanner mare.
Now, if only I could find a way to find it, tackle it to the ground, and tickle it until it submits to my authority.
Maybe I'll start by investigating my roof and see what turns up.
Ten bucks says it's fairies.