A Warning to Intruders

I directed my glass [i.e., telescope] to the house. There were no signs of life, but there was the ruined roof, the long mud wall peeping above the grass, with three little square window-holes, no two of the same size; all this brought within reach of my hand, as it were. And then I made a brusque movement, and one of the remaining posts of that vanished fence leaped up in the field of my glass. You remember I told you I had been struck at the distance by certain attempts at ornamentation, rather remarkable in the ruinous aspect of the place. Now I had suddenly a nearer view, and its first result was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow. Then I went carefully from post to post with my glass, and I saw my mistake. These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they were expressive and puzzling, striking and disturbing—food for thought and also for the vultures if there had been any looking down from the sky; but at all events for such ants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole. They would have been even more impressive, those heads on the stakes, if their faces had not been turned to the house. Only one, the first I had made out, was facing my way. I was not so shocked as you may think. The start back I had given was really nothing but a movement of surprise. I had expected to see a knob of wood there, you know. I returned deliberately to the first I had seen—and there it was, black, dried, sunken, with closed eyelids,—a head that seemed to sleep at the top of that pole, and, with the shrunken dry lips showing a narrow white line of the teeth, was smiling too, smiling continuously at some endless and jocose dream of that eternal slumber.
Heart of Darkness
Joseph Conrad

When I was a kid, common wisdom was that you could keep coyotes out of your pasture by shooting one of them and draping its carcass over the barbed wire. Supposedly the other coyotes would take the hint. Maybe that was the thinking behind the carcass you see here. D’Arcy was out early one morning, photographing the prismatic frost that covered everything, when she noticed this dead raccoon. She was repulsed, but knew the duty of anyone with a camera and a blogging friend.


  1. The pictures are visually stunning, the subject matter something one might expect to find in the collective works of Dean Koontz or Stephen King. How sad that is.


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