And rain it did and it cracked and it thundered and lightening lit up the sky and the ground, already so wet, could barely contain it. It was beautiful.
Before the rain came in though, I did weed those tomatoes and mulched them good. I got filthy. And when I was finishing up I wondered why I've ever let myself regard any time in the garden or in the yard as wasted time. My god! How ridiculous! Some people go to the gym and spend money to lift weights and run or walk or stairclimb or bike in one place and yet I can be outside, listening to birdsong and feel the breeze and the sun, squatting and standing up, bending and stretching and handling big bags of leaves that are pretty darn heavy and digging and pulling and I can see the results of my efforts when I look around me and it makes me so happy. The food I get is almost beside the point. The point is the very joy of the work of it. Bringing forth life in dirt. With chickens and ducks about to keep me company, listening to a good book all the while.
Ah, man. For me there is nothing better.
I came in when the rain truly began to fall, when the lightening and thunder started crashing about.
I did clean out some cabinets. And then I went totally Little Housewife On The Big Fucking Prairie and cleaned out the refrigerator. Child, please! Of course I'm doing laundry because I'm always doing laundry. And pretty soon here I'm going to make us a nice supper.
A little while ago I was out gathering eggs and I just had to take a picture of my birds, or some of them, at least, as they rushed me for possible food. I had already given them many delicious things from the refrigerator that were on the verge, to say the least, when it comes to use-by-dates. They adore old cottage cheese. And you should see them peck away at hummus.
I swear to you that when Mick comes up onto the kitchen porch and crows for me to bring them tasty treats, his crow can sound almost threatening. Not life-threatening but threatening like, "You better come feed us or else!" And this morning the ducks were talking about something in a most vocal and determined way and I went out to see if anything was wrong. There did not appear to be anything unusual going on and I said, "Y'all! Calm down!"
And one of the ducks said, and I swear this is true, "What?"
"Chill out!" I said.
And they did.
And then this.
I had put that raggy old unraveling rug on the porch to prevent slippage underneath one of the leaky places and Maurice, being a cat and thus a supermodel who always thinks of her image and how she looks, had decided to curl up right in the middle of it to take a nap.
The rain has passed, I have indeed found pea pods growing on their thick green vines, my back hurts like holy hell and so does my neck and so what? so what? so what? The frogs are croaking but not roaring, the hog dogs are barking and I suspect their owners are at Sunday night church but that's just a theory and I bet you anything that if I listen carefully tonight I will hear a Chuck-Widow's-Will out way behind the house. I hear the soft gray doves calling, the liquid song of the mockingbird.
Here I am and so glad to be.