There is a Tree...

There is a tree...

Outside my kitchen, there is a tree.

Its branches tap against the window.

I am 32. I am a strong guy with a weapon or two at my disposal.

What's more, I know that my imagination is overactive, and calls to mind villains that do not or cannot exist in our universe.

Like Gremlins. Either the type that torment Phoebe Cates, or the type that scare poor John Lithgow.

Or perhaps the Wicked Witch of the West.

Or the Cryptkeeper.

Clawing at my window.

Every time.

Which makes doing the dishes a chore beyond reckoning.