OPINION|
I trundled down the hard, bare hobbit trail lined with brown crispy reeds and snaking tendrils of spiky multi-flower rose. Normally the Oracle greets me with grace: wild crocus, frost flowers, wild bee ballets or scented mist from her shadowed midst.
But not today.
“Smell that, human,” she barked as yellowish mist gushed from her mouth, tipping my lawn chair back and folding me into a clattering aluminum tube embrace. Pinned in place, she wrapped me in a nose wrinkling,…
