The Moon Owes Us Three Chickens

This is not superstition. It is bookkeeping.

Last spring the moon borrowed three hens for what it called “tide research.” The hens returned healthy, unusually confident, and unwilling to enter the coop. The moon has not returned our calls.

Interest will begin accruing after the next full moon.

Midnight Transmission from Cypress Mile 9

The tower came alive without power. First it read tomorrow’s weather backward. Then it asked whether anyone had seen a blue truck carrying three jars of lightning.

We answered with the standard field-office code: two flashlight blinks, one porch-light blink, and a firm refusal to discuss the jars.

At 12:31 a.m. the tower broadcast a recipe for fog. We have filed it under “probably soup.”

The signal stopped at 12:44. Every frog in the ditch faced north for another six minutes.