I slept so hard that when I woke up, I was in pain. I don't think I'd moved all night. I had been dreaming that I had to walk somewhere and I just kept saying, "I can't, I can't. I hurt."
I slowly unfolded and managed to get out of bed and realized it was Sunday and that I was not only in pain but in a bad mood but what are you going to do? Put your big mama overalls on and get on with it.
Pancakes have been made and eaten. Baby chicks are back in the outside box. They did not freeze with fright this morning but immediately began to peck at bugs, real and imaginary. Mr. Moon is working on his project and needs to go back to Lowe's for a drill bit. I will not be going with him on this trip.
The wind is blowing in like, sure, why not? a lion. It's going to rain today, possibly, definitely tonight. I will have to keep an eye out to make sure to bring the chicks in before that happens. The wind seems to be blowing in some anxiety too, but manageable. I can sustain life on this level.
I love my community here. Let me just say that. Syd sent me a picture. Here it is.
The woman is a teacher of salsa dance whom Syd and his wife used to take lessons from. The man is someone who needs no introduction.
Then Jucie who is another Tallahassee girl, identified my mystery plant for me. It is the Mahonia Oregon Grape. And the berries (which are not a true grape) can be eaten. This makes me happy.
Thank you, Syd. Thank you, Jucie.
Perhaps it is this wind which is making me anxious. I truly think that in a former lifetime I was a sailor and perished in a storm at sea. Wind makes me nervous. Especially if I am near the water. Of course that former lifetime thing could be bunk and this all came about in 1960 when I was six years old and Hurricane Donna ripped through the east coast of Florida and I laid in my bed and watched the wind blow the sturdy cedar trees as if they were merely grasses being flattened and tossed as the rain came down like god's wrath upon the world.
Red cardinals in pink Japanese magnolia tree. Clashing of colors, they should stick to the camellias where they look like Christmas, scarlet and glossy green much more pleasing to the eye. Of the human eye, at least. The chicks are safe in their sturdy box, the sky has become a sick dull gray, the dog beats out a tattoo on the porch floor as he scratches, scratches, scratches. The wind comes like waves. Water comes in waves, pain comes in waves, sobbing can come in waves, contractions of childbirth come in waves, painful but building up to that moment of delivery-of-life, taking-in of breath, moment of fulfillment of every living dream.
Storms come and they pass. They may bring destruction or life. Often times, both.
This is the way of the world in which we live.
We can huddle down until they pass, we can stride out directly into them, wearing our rubber boots and singing brave foolish sea chanties. Branches crack, leathery magnolia leaves drop, the wind chimes ring out what could be a warning. They sing different songs to the different winds of the seasons. The birds hang on for dear life, clutching swaying branches tightly with their clever feet.
So do I.