Dear St. Anthony, please come ’round…St. Francis’ head is lost and must be found.
Yup. You read that right. My St. Francis garden statue has gone headless. I knew all along that his neck was compromised. The statue was a hand me down from my aunt and uncle when they sold their house, and Frannie was sold as is, with a surgically repaired neck resulting from a run in with my cousin.
For almost 15 years he stood watch over my yard, and I never thought to check in on him during or after the vicious winter. I have a lawn tractor in need of on-site repair and as such I’ve outsourced my grass cutting twice this season, to two different services as I audition landscaping people.
Fourth of July cookout was about 15 minutes in when Joe asked what happened to Francis’ head. I didn’t know anything had happened. But sure enough, the benevolent saint was headless. I went over to retrieve the head, figuring a few hours and a Google search would fix everything. Only the head was nowhere to be found.
Flash forward a day, to me with a rake. Searching for the head. It was bowed forward so it should have rolled forward. If either of the lawn guys clipped it, I would have expected to see concrete chips. Nothing. No head, no evidence, no nothing.
An omen? Of what? A sign? Of what?
I’m perplexed. Flummoxed. Stumped. Stymied. And hoping. Upon hope that St. Anthony helps out a brother and finds Frannie’s head.
I’ll mull it over as I watch the women’s World Cup final. Up 2-0 early. USA.