To the Editor,
Since childhood I haven’t given omens and superstitions a second thought. After watching the eclipse of the super-sized harvest ‘blood moon’, I felt a strange compulsion to go up to the attic, unlock my cobweb-infested streamer trunk and take out my old collection of turkey leg bones.
For half an hour or more I insanely shouted at the bones, “Tell me what it means!” and then threw them on the floor.
Each time they bounced and twirled before settling. Each time they formed the letters ‘J’ and ‘T’.
Suddenly I understood the lunar message: red is the colour of the Liberal party; each Christmas I eat a drumstick; Justin Trudeau was born on Dec 25; and the bones miraculously and incessantly formed his initials, JT.
The moon spoke to me. I now know who to vote for. No longer do I have to watch orchestrated debates, listen to spin-doctored ads; or read partisan pamphlets. A relief.