Some days I just feel loathe to share anything about my day. These are the days where I have felt too weird and strange to even try to describe and what's the point anyway?
Today is one of those days. It's definitely chilly and getting chillier and maybe it's just the weather, that foreboding of another winter which will lead to another spring, another year, another segment of time that will be in my past and oh, how time goes by so quickly now and I can hardly stand it. And maybe on November 1 the walls between the living and the dead do get thin and wavery and I feel this approaching and all of my beloveds who live on the other side of those walls weigh on me with a heaviness that feels too much like foreboding itself.
Should I make an altar with marigolds and chocolate and tequila and cut paper banners, candles and avocados, images of the Virgin and sugar skulls to appease the dead and the gods?
I don't have the energy.
The cold creeps into my bones, I feel my joints stiffen and see my skin and muscles loosen. I feel my mind having to reach for things which used to live right on the tip of it, I go to get my pastry blender out of the drawer and can't find it, glance to the bowl with my flour and shortening in it to see that the tool is already in it and I had begun to cut the shortening in already before I stepped away to do something else.
Still, somehow I manage to make very decent biscuits.
I guess I can hold on to that fact if nothing else.
Mr. Moon found the possum that's been tormenting my hens and who probably killed little Rose, dead in the yard this morning by the mulberry tree. He said he had no idea what killed the creature. It had some blood on its fur but whatever killed it, did not take it home and eat it.
A chicken's revenge?
I rather doubt that.
After all of my years on earth I am still beset with mysteries most every day of my life and that is one thing about the prospect of dying that I truly rue- no more chances to solve the mysteries.
Because you know what? I don't really think that the dead know all the answers any more than we do and in fact, I do not think they know anything at all although wouldn't it be wonderful to have one tiny moment of complete enlightenment as our souls take leave, even if that moment was about as long as it takes a spark from a firework to sizzle out on a lake?
Would be rather ironic, though, wouldn't it?
That is enough of THAT! And so forth and so on. May I be more cheerful tomorrow.