But it did.
It already feels a bit like the dog days of summer. Slow and still and humid and hot. Even the chickens are quiet. Like the air is pressing down on all of us. I walk around today and everywhere I look I think, "Who LIVES here? Who tolerates this mess and slow decay?"
The depressing answer of course, is me.
I never did get any okra planted yesterday. I tried like hell to gird my loins but I couldn't. After I ran to town and went to the store and came home and took the trash, I just couldn't. It took all of my energy to get ready to go to town- take a shower, put on real clothes. I have become increasingly intolerant of "real clothes." I remember a dress I had during the hippie days and I wonder where it went. It was a perfect dress. It required no underwear (and neither did my bosoms at that point) and it was made of the softest cotton and had a pretty skirt to it and it tied and it was like wearing a cloud and I loved it and where did it go? I bought it at a store in Tallahassee called Moxie which has been gone forever.
Ah well. Those days are as gone as the dress, as my once-proud bosoms.
For Mother's Day, May got me the sequel to Life After Life by Kate Atkinson, A God in Ruins, and it is good. I am slightly amazed that I remember anything from the first book. But I do and have slipped into this different version of that world with all of my belief and heart. What a tender, sweet joy to lay down on the bed with a new book, a hardback! My own! and to read with my eyes.
Outside at night the frogs call and the owls hoot and the nightbirds wing through the ink of dark and the deep humidity of the south sets itself upon us and yet, I can lay on my bed in the air conditioning, my pillows all around me and under me and enter another world and yet, be so firmly and fully present in my own world and outside, yet another world, and isn't that how Atkinson's books are? The folding and layering and folding again of universes and worlds and places and people?
Magic upon magic encased in magic and wrapped in magic and soaring through magic and then the magic of sleep.
Well. That's what I'm thinking about today, this morning. I am going to skip the walk and go to town and do something with Miss Jessie. The mess and decay will take care of itself. Tomorrow, perhaps, I will plant the okra, pick up the pecan branches that fell sometime yesterday, clean out the hen house.
Here are the baby chicks today with their mother.
As am I.
Where are you today? What are you reading? Are you still in the cool, energetic, blue and purple and greening and yellow and singing thrust of spring or is it like here where you are? Sleepy and snaky and branches-falling-down and skin always a little damp with the sheen of sweat? Or is it different still?
Miss Cha-Cha almost just died. I mean, two minutes ago. She tried to fly over the fence instead of walking down to the gate and got her head stuck in between two slats of the fence and hung there, with no idea what to do, not even making a bawk. I went out and lifted her body gently and freed her and set her down. She is as soft and light as down and was seemingly completely unconcerned throughout the entire twenty seconds it took from start to finish. I swear to you, if I had not been right here, she would have perished by unintentional suicide.
So- no matter what else I do or don't do today, I have saved a chicken from a slow and torturous death.
This feels monumental, even as I realize it is the smallest thing.
(Scene of the almost-death.
The rot and decay did not get everything today.)