My book on tape mentioned ostriches, and I suddenly realized that I dreamed about them the night before. Like the zombies from last week, I don't remember much about them. Except perhaps the suggestion that one of the ostriches was wearing a saddle.
I'm not superstitious, or not much anyway. I believe it's actually very difficult to have no superstitions at all. Still, I don't really believe in omens or portents, except maybe in a vaguely poetic sort of sense.
But when I started the day by finding the mailbox smashed to smithereens, I was somehow less surprised to learn that the only toasty sub shop within 30 miles had closed. Less forlorn that the search for a certain wildflower came up empty (due, I think, to deer appetites). And less angry than usual that the cats decided to divide a one gallon loosely-potted plant and all its dirt between the table, the upholstered chair, and the floor. And ground two weeks worth of mail into it. And attacked and chewed nearly to bits the charming tea towels. (After dragging them through the dirt.)
Better luck tomorrow.