Crowning the Gourds
A pale, heavily ribbed heirloom pumpkin flanked the porch steps this morning, looking far too stodgy to remain unadorned. Natural curves deserve an audacious flourish, wouldn't you say? I scaled the steep waxy grooves, anchoring my heeled boots into the deep ridges until I conquered the corkscrew summit of its dried wooden stem. Tucked into the fissure of the stalk, I planted a stiff, iridescent blue jay feather I had retrieved from the lawn. It jutted skyward at a rakish tilt, quivering with every gust of wind. Why tolerate an ordinary autumnal doorstep when one can mount an imposing, crested creature to guard the entrance?
