There may be many blogs today, as I am bubbling with much internal chat and noticings. Might as well share, eh?

I'll start with my early morning (wheee! 6 a.m.) walk yesterday. Typical grey, cool morning, trotting around the neighborhood with the dog, trying to get the seratonin levels up. I check out all the gardens, listen to the birds, smell the morning getting on its way. Is good. Was thinking about Ventura, and just the interesting nature of its being, and noticing the lumpy nature of the plants everywhere. Humps are a theme, like so many Seussian Wumps, planted everywhere in all sorts of textures and sizes. A town of mounds. But I digress...

Breaking into my reverie is a man walking from his house, down his drive to get his paper. Pretty typical, yes? Sure, except he was dressed all in black--black, fancy cowboy boots, black you-can-crack-a-flea-on-these jeans, black crisply pressed cowboy shirt, and yes, a black Stetson. (Like I know my butt from a Stetson, but it was a very sharp, authorative cowboy hat.)

Odd. He was so out of place in the midst of surburban lawns with autotimers and little cherub fountains. He went not at all with the bamboo'd faux asian stylings of his neighbor's yard. He certainly stood out against the bland beige block that was his home. Just odd.

Today, I was driving thru another neighborhood, and ran into his doppleganger; well, sort of. A dude, in every sense of the word, wore the same black hat, but coupled it with a black sleeveless tee, black baggie jean shorts with chains, black wrist band (wrist band?! oh sure, honey.) and black hightops.

When I think of all black, I think of home. So many ways to do it. I've just never seen it done quite this way before.

Who *are* these people? Am I being stalked by a humorously costumed Grim Reaper?

What does it all mean?