9/20/17
The portentous frog, which sits on a shelf in my office, is certainly creepy. August was somewhat inaccurate in his description, though. The frog does not appear to have died in situ, but rather was mummified. It is a dried, wrinkled husk of a frog about the size of a ping pong ball. It has no eyes, its mouth is puckered inward, and its toes curled.
Thus far, nothing tragic has happened in the house, but I find August’s fear interesting. He is, essentially, untouchable. His apparition can fade and disappear, but he’ll just end up where he should have always ended up, Heaven or Hell. He says he also finds my fear curious, as the exact same thing would happen to me, hopefully without the spectral detour.
I guess who or whatever you are, wherever you are, change is unsettling. But often it’s necessary. Almost always it’s unavoidable.
Today I drew the Eight of Pentacles reversed. The spider, upside down in her web, ready for the kill. Ready, because her web is woven, her work is done. But knowing also, that her work will never end, a new web will always need weaving if she is to survive. August hates hard work. But he’s still determined to warm his touch so it doesn’t give me chills. So work he shall I suppose. And await disaster, shall I.
