She is in that awkward teenagery stage and is getting feathers around her neck (his neck?) but they are still more fluff than anything and she's (he's?) a funny looking little bird and still making the biddie peep noise, sharp whistling trill notes which I suppose help her mother locate her at all times. I do not know. Mr. Moon looked in on them last night and said that Baby is still keeping the chick under her wing as they sleep but that B.B. is so big now that she sticks out from under. The hen house needs de-pooping badly. Another chore to be done.
I feel overwhelmed and that is part of coming home. We're down to eggs and bread in the refrigerator and of course the condiment collection which never goes away. When we were in Roseland I actually made quite a few of our meals in that beautiful little kitchen with the pink G.E. electric stove, and it felt fine to have only a few spices, some oil, some vinegar, a few purloined basil leaves from Glenn and Scott's plant which I chopped and added to our salads. So anyway, yes, I need to go to the store and I need to mop and I need to throw shit away and I need to get to the library to return things and I need to clean out the hen house and I need to take a walk and I need to do laundry and I need to figure out what I am doing with the rest of my life.
It is quiet here in Lloyd this morning with only the sound of the peeping chick, the roosters calling back and forth, the breeze sweetening the air and rustling leaves. My firespike is already starting to put out bloom which seems ridiculously early but it's been a crazy summer. I expect the Confederate Rose to start blooming soon and the red passionflower vine is thick on the fence but hasn't put forth one single blossom yet. The elephant ears beside the porch are catching the breeze and one of them is shaking its head back and forth as if saying, "No, no, no."
I wonder what the question was.
I need to get moving. I need to fall back into my routine here and I need to see my grandsons. I need to take the trash. I need to shake my head like a dog and clear it of river scenes and white sand roads and that deep blue pool and fit myself back here where I live and I probably need to stop pondering the questions for which there are no certain answers, questions like why and how and where and when and so forth.
There is nothing to be gained by them and they are simply the mind's way of keeping us stuck, too busy pondering to take up our tasks and simply move forward into the day which has been given us, cool and clear and clean and ready to be used and not just used, but gloried in too because to do otherwise is a sort of sin I want nothing to do with at this point in my life.