by Pamela Goode
Vernon carved the most beautiful pumpkin, with stars for freckles, and the out-cuts held high by toothpicks framing the tawny treasure in a star-studded stratosphere. Four short days (one with several hours of drizzle) later, we awoke to a severely shrunken head with the most bewildering black and white fuzzy growth emanating from every orifice, in many spots, quite thickly. Never seen it before, and certainly not on such a hale, hardy, healthy specimen of fruit. It is, however, rather fitting for Scare-Day. Vernon suggested I push it over the balcony railing where it could reside in peace behind the hedges of our crawl space. Umm . . . I don’t think so.