A Day To Be Silly. A Day To Be Wealthy

When I got up at 9:30 after TEN HOURS OF SLEEP (don't you judge me) my husband had already gotten up, packed, eaten breakfast, tended to the birds, and was ready to hit the road for Georgia. He is bound and determined to get another doe for meat. He was happy, I tell you. I woke up enough to tell him my dreams ("you didn't love me anymore") and he laughed and said that if I'd gotten up earlier he would shown me he loved me and I gave him the look, you know the look. The one that says, take me to Cozumel and show me you love me or maybe that's just a look that happens here.
I am being silly. I feel sort of silly today.
I went out and took a little walk and it is beyond perfect today. Here is my enchanted wood with water from all of our rain.

I walked down dirt roads and on paved roads and I got me a new walking stick, another dried stalk of dog fennel which would not deter a strong hummingbird determined to attack me but nothing attacked me although I did see a pretty bulldog pup, running free who seemed more scared of me than I was of him. "Go home," I said gently, shaking my stick at him. I hope he does. 

It felt so good to be out, moving fast under the blue sky, the green of the trees above me or at least the ones who have not lost their leaves or needles, the cool air. I waved at a sheriff who looked worried about something and also the man on lives on Main Street but who sits in his truck at the intersection to read the paper and ponder things. I guess he ponders things. I don't ask him. He is not a talky-sort of man and I always feel as if he disapproves of me and he has, in fact, told me that I should not walk alone in the woods. 

Oh well. Been doing it for ten years now and no harm done at all. 

I stopped by the Post Office and collected more cards and also my Virgin of Guadalupe calendars which I must, by law, order every year. I am ready for 2015. 

When I got home I went out to the coop to say hey to Camellia and Lily and Willy. Here is what I found. 

Two very fresh duck eggs. One was laid on the ground and one in the little roost box. Thus the one which is very dirty and the one which is not as dirty. I hear that Willy and Lily lay their eggs willy-nilly and I'm sorry. That had to be said. But they do not seem to nest, just drop those eggs wherever they feel the urge. 

I will be learning more about ducks than I ever imagined I needed to. 

So. That is me on the day after Christmas. Feeling extremely well, anticipating a call from Lis who is nearby at her sister-in-law's, knowing I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. Rich in birds and in eggs, in greens in the garden. Rich in love and rich in not being in a panic about a damn thing. Rich in camellias busting into bloom, rich in colors and in textures and in light and in shade. Rich in silliness. Rich in books and rich in water, poured from heaven and seeping into the aquifer beneath me, filtered by limestone and better than money in the bank. Rich in sun and rich in this old house which still stands to embrace our lives so graciously. Rich in oak trees. Rich in my neighborhood, rich in a cat-familiar who holds me down in the bed at night so that I do not get pulled too far upwards into bad dreams. Or down, either one. Rich in my good husband, rich in my amazing children, rich in their children and the ones to come. 

Rich in friends and rich in solitude. 

Fuck me! I am a rich bitch!

I think I'll go give the chucks some more fresh water. 

Love...Ms. Moon