All of my plans to get out into the yard to work seem a bit overwhelming today, although perhaps I will, eventually, find the energy. For now I just feel a big foggy, a bit sore, as if instead of laying paralyzed all night I had been fighting with demons.
It's gray here today and that's all right. Spring is still upon us.
That's how much a bamboo can shoot up in one night. I'd say about eight inches tall.
All of the chickens. Maurice and Jack both followed me out to watch the daily chicken-release ritual but it was Jack today who followed me around the yard.
He is a most affectionate and curious fellow, that Jack. He ran about and then climbed a tree as if to show off his skills to his old human mama.
He is still a young thing and I am very glad he's come to live with us. He's charmed Mr. Moon completely.
The wisteria is blooming in the bamboo.
It's a weed. It's invasive. It is glorious.
The honeysuckle continues to bloom.
Could there be a prettier word? A sweeter word?
Oh dear Lord. I have so much to do and feel as if I've been shelled, I've been skinned, I've been de-scaled and am naught but a wiggling pink worm of a thing, trying to shelter myself from everything.
Which is fine.
This is a good gray day in a just-right place for doing exactly that.