Photo By Roy Alson
What could that possibly be on Big Tom's head? Is it a rare silver ermine, running away from a lecherous furrier? Or is it a leaf from the invisible three hundred-foot high oak tree, which, falling as is a leaf's wont in autumn, has come ever so gently to rest on this immortal bronze skull? Perhaps it is a squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag, or a clod of mud thrown up by some unruly stallion. Well — no, Saturday was Halloween, and it is a squashed pumpkin.
