Mr. Smitty is accosted by ghosts!
In touch with larger forces, the Smee has to negotiate his sleek way betwixt and between the legions of the dead, who meander, ghost-like, across the paths, thickets, and copses of our yard.
So confus-i-ficating for a smee!
But being an elegant animal, the Smee can slip between these karmic temptations:
“My son farmed this land…”, “My daughter was married right behind…”, “We buried my husband…”
The Smitty, present in all of these various dimensions, merely winks and takes it in, knowing his peeps are right behind getting down all these extended dance versions of history.
This is why he is sometimes slow to respond to calls; he got bidness, yo!
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