We've been getting some fine rain here lately. The kinds of rainstorms that I remember from the old days and the plants and trees are so happy. My phlox are starting to bloom but they get heavy-headed in the rain and bow down a bit.
Pretty soon my whole yard is going to have that color to it. Every year I swear I'm going to get some of the blue and white ones, but I don't. I forget and I don't.
The figs in the big fig tree are still coming on. I sure hope we get some that come to ripeness this year. It would just be a shame if we didn't.
I picked maybe a cup and a half of blackberries on my walk this morning. That wasn't really blackberry picking, that was just walk-resting. It was hot and I got pretty torn up by thorns but it was nice to bring home a few berries in a bag.
It's cooled off now from the rain. It's only about seventy degrees which is a huge improvement over ninety. It's comfortable. Real comfortable.
I went to town today and got soaked to the bone running into places without an umbrella. I had one in the back of the car but by the time I'd fished it out, I would have been just as wet as running without one. I stopped by Lily's with some beans for her and the family and I got to hold the baby and rock him to sleep. That made me feel good. I kept stroking the velvet of his skin. Every time I touched him it was like a new realization of what softness is.
Owen offered to let me sit on his lap. "But I'd squish you," I said.
"No. I hold you," he told me.
The rain was just starting then and thunder was cracking but when that part of the storm passed a little, he wanted to go out to the porch and watch the rain. But he got his finger caught in the door and he cried a little but he wanted to go back out and he sat in a chair and he cried some more and called for his mama. "I scared of thunder!" he said. "Well come on back in then," she said. "No. I want to watch."
Oh, that little man.
He says he does want to come spend the night tomorrow. I asked him what he wanted me to cook for supper.
"Apples," he said. The boy does love apples. I bought some at the store and if that's what he wants tomorrow, that's what he'll get. But I know he doesn't really want them cooked. Maybe cut up with peanut butter.
It was so nice to get home and get out of my wet clothes. I put the groceries away and the library books and I fed some watermelon to the chickens.
Here's Curly Sue.
Is she the spitting image of her daddy or what?
He's kind of bedraggled there. Chickens do not seem to mind getting wet at all. They seem to love the rain. It brings up all sorts of delicious things for them to find in the dirt to eat. Curly Sue may yet turn out to be a rooster and if she does, well, that'll be just fine with me. The world can't have too many roosters like Elvis. He's a jewel and a gentleman, that one.
I'm so sleepy. I guess it's the rain and that walking and blackberry picking in the heat this morning and the fact that I didn't get enough sleep last night. I washed my sheets today and I'm looking forward to going to bed with even more of my usual enthusiasm than usual if that is even possible. I got a nice little piece of salmon I'm going to cook with a bag of spinach for my supper. Mr. Moon is not fond of salmon so I try to eat it when he's gone. I'll be glad when he gets back and I can get my arms around him and know he's safe for sure.
I tell you what, I've been reading about this Jerry Sandusky trial and despite my pacifistic leanings, I sort of want to kill that man. He preyed on those little boys, most of them fatherless and so desperate to be loved and he did things to those children which can never, ever be erased from their minds or their hearts or their bones. And the people who knew and didn't do a damn thing to protect those boys are every bit as guilty in my book. Sometimes I think the ones who know but don't protect are more guilty than the abusers because the abusers are sick and have an illness (which does nothing to make them less accountable) but those who turn a blind eye don't even have that excuse.
Whether they're the damn pope or St. Joe Paterno (and does he rest in peace?) they should be held accountable too.
Well, that's what I think. The sexual predators of children are worse than murderers to my mind. They steal children's souls and innocence and condemn them to a life of emotional wreckage and anyone who stands by and allows that to continue should be convicted too. If that started happening, maybe things would change. Maybe.
I don't know.
I don't know shit.
I'm just tired.
And that is easily cured. I'll cook my salmon and eat it and go to bed. The rain is dripping off the leaves and the chickens are having their last scratch-arounds before they go to their own beds. There are men next door doing some carpentry for the church and I guess at some point, I should go over and introduce myself and welcome them to the neighborhood but not tonight. I'm just too damn tired. I hear there was some holy-rollin' music coming from the church last weekend while we were gone and I wonder how this is going to affect our lives.
I guess it'll be fine. I think they have drums and guitars and in fact, I hear a bass drum right now.
Well, I've always said that dancing is my favorite form of prayer. And any time and any where that people are moved to dance, well, that's church.
It's also church when rain is dripping off the trees and the sky is showing out its last light of the day and it's cool and you have something to eat and a sweet clean bed to lie down and dream in.
I guess what I'm saying is that life in and of itself is a holy thing sometimes. Especially if you have managed to find yourself in a place which is filled with love on a regular basis. There is holy and there is unholy and I may not know much but I know the difference and I think we all do if we aren't completely fucked up as children. Holy can happen in a church on a Sunday morning but it can happen in a bar on a Saturday night too and the Word can be given by sermon or it can more likely to my mind, be given by music or the berry on the bush or the baby sleeping in the arms or the deep bass drum which calls the feet to dance.
Sing glory. Sing hallelujah. Whisper I love you. Protect the children, the innocent, the father- and motherless.
Amen and good night.