This morning I went to let the maniac dog outside and found a dead bird on my back stoop. You know how much I like birds. My windows are in serious need of cleaning so I have no idea how they can get confused enough to bash into them.
I felt a little prickle on the back of my neck. And not just because I will have to gather the courage to dispose of it. My superstitious grandmother thought a dead bird (or a wild bird that flies in your house) represents death.
About 30 minutes later, my mother called to inform me that her sister's husband had just lost his brother to an apparent heart attack.
I don't consider myself superstitious but hmmmm.
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2 comments:
So you're wondering if the bird flying into window was an omen that your mom's sister's husband's brother passed away.
hmmmmmmm.
I'm sorry for your mom's family. Did you know this man?
I hate superstitions!
I must admit I pay attetion to them.
My Mom always said: Death comes in threes. I hate that one because I always count three!
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