Cicada on porch screen.
Yesterday when I was out picking beans, I heard a giant CRACK and looked up to see a very large branch of a walnut tree trembling and then it fell, the leaves whishing as it dropped through space and than a huge crash as it hit the ground. The most fortuitous thing about it was that the branch dropped almost directly onto the burn pile. I have no idea why it cracked and fell. It looked healthy and fine. All the weight of the water from the rain we'd just gotten, I suppose.
Of course it was nowhere near the size or sound or crash of the half of the ancient oak that fell a few years ago. But there is something incredibly primal about hearing that sound. That ripe splitting as wood separates from wood, the small breath-holding tremble before the fall.
Mr. Moon has taken off for the Georgia woods to do pre-preparation for hunting season at his camp and so my hunting-widow status is back. I cried when he left. I will miss him. He hugged me tightly and said, "I'll be back." I have these two, thankfully, to keep me company while he is gone.
And now I am off to get ready for yet another lunch in town. This one with Hank and Lily and assorted young'uns. But first I want to thank all of you who commented yesterday with all of my heart. I am still pondering. This is a situation which, although it has roots in my past, is not specifically an issue of that. More of an issue of what to do with the rest of my life and so forth.
You know- just the small stuff.
I feel certain that no matter what, love will prevail.
Happy Friday, y'all.