He called out across the grape vines, "This your house?"
"Yep," I replied.
He paused. "Uha. You're going to have some visitors this week." He walked away.
I didn't take it to mean he would be stopping by with a bottle of scotch. I took it to mean he didn't like the state of my yard, which, after six consecutive 100-hour work weeks, looks a bit wild. I assumed he meant he would be calling the city about my yard, or, more likely, he would be dropping by with a couple of his cronies to fuck me and my house up.
I stood in my house a long time with my swords in hand. But I was very tired, and not really very afraid, so I went to bed, sleeping well, even for the dream I had about a building and the deep, dark hallways I stumbled into, but was afraid to explore.
I awoke early to meet the city worker scheduled to fix my water meter. A good man, driving 70 miles a day home to work and back, to live on five acres in a berm house, which, being mostly underground, never gets below 56 degrees. He is like a hobbit, actually, which is to say he is compact, hairy, and direct. "Everybody thinks we get great retirement benefits. I pay the union 34 dollars every month, but it doesn't do me any good. The retirement benefits are a fake."
I have water now. Though I didn't bother to open the valve to the house. I'm sure there are burst pipes and I won't get to that until November.
At work I told a fairy I know - not the fake kind but a real one - about the man on my sidewalk and his threat. She looked at me skeptically. I told her about the neighbor I met on the street who works for an environmental organization that buys biologically sensitive land to return it to a wild state. I speculated to that neighbor that I find it interesting I can be threatened with violence for letting my yard go wild, when people everywhere spray poisons and few say much about it. She replied, "Yeah, but those poisons sure make things look beautiful." I told the fairy my neighbor was only contradicting me because she does not appreciate my yard, that her concern for the Earth is not greater than her devotion to convention. She looked at me, skeptically.
Sometime around noon I filed a police report. I am not in the habit of filing police reports. While I'm not concerned for my safety, I am worried about my house. I want a record of the threat made to me. I'm afraid I'll return to my home and find it trashed, knowing as I do, all the time and money that would be involved in fixing it.
As the afternoon progressed, I began to see my fears from the fairy's perspective. Maybe the big man appreciated my wildflowers, and he expects others will as well? I didn't ask him. Maybe my neighbor was being facetious. There is a difference between a person's energy and my projections. I'm not always right. Maybe I'm prone to seeing everything lately from a negative perspective?
I do know, I'm impressed by that fairy.