The white junk that must not be named is coming, and I didn’t need any mystical signs to tell me so. It was actually a piece of calico covering the Fresh Eggs sign that hangs over the cooler – normally loaded with an honor box and recycled, fabric-covered cartons of large brown eggs – at the end of the town road that signaled that the town’s poultry population has moved into winter production mode.
Okay, maybe a fat quarter is a pretty mystical signal. Either way, it looks like S*%@ is coming.