The Birds Florida Style

I'm a holiday junkie. August 1st I had my homemade fall wreath hanging on my front door. I bought my first container of pumpkin spice creamer right after. After Thanksgiving, I will guzzle peppermint mocha creamer daily. Heck, I even have my Christmas tree up already with autumn-colored lights strung around it. There's so little in life to get excited about so I make up my own fun. Always have.

But I had a 3-dimensional Halloween moment the other day. I felt like I walked into a Alfred Hitchcock movie. It started out normal. I stepped off my front porch into the muggy, pre-dawn morning that time when the sun rises and knocks the moon out of its place. I usually look forward to this ghost town time of day while all surrounding neighbors are still sleeping. It's my time to rule the world.

I had an eerie feeling this time, though. As I sauntered across the parking lot in my PJs and flip flops an undefined flurry surprised me from the left. I looked but I didn't see anything. For the three weeks I had been feeding my neighbor's cat every morning and night I never heard a peep from anyone or anything.

I picked up the pace afraid that something evil would catch me if I stalled. As I neared the neighbor's place the noise got louder. At first it sounded like a wind ruffling some leaves in a lone tree. But suddenly, the sound of a million birds cawing erupted like a feeding frenzy had just begun. I was not waiting for the chase and darted the rest of the way to my neighbor's door and struggled to get it unlocked. As soon as it unlatched I pushed it open and flew inside, slammed the door shut, and locked the deadbolt. I was no longer interested in being outside. Going home would have to wait.