Thursday, October 30, 2014

Quiet Heart

I'm thinking about a lot of stuff this morning, trying to answer my angst with calm sanity, with openness of heart.
I am also cooking sausage and grits and have a pan of biscuits in the oven.
Mr. Moon got up before I did and went to Monticello to pick up his deer sausage from the processor's and he also early-voted and I am proud of him for that.
He pulled back into the yard just as I was opening the hen house to let my chickens out. I found one perfect brown egg right by the door, dropped by whichever hen it is who does this- just drops an egg wherever she may be, never taking time to sit on a nest.
So. Fresh sausage, grits, eggs, biscuits. Not a normal Thursday morning breakfast but he's going up to Georgia today and I won't be making his weekend breakfasts and, well, fresh sausage, right-out-of-the-chicken eggs.

I've already cried this morning, reading what May wrote in her comment on my last post. If I think about it, I will cry some more.
Of course I will think about it.
Sometimes your heart is just too full not to overspill out the eyes.
Today is one of those days.

I am thinking of the energy of the universe and wondering if it changes when a baby is born, when someone dies. We know that the amount of it cannot change but I think that the balance of it can.
Rodd died, Liz Sparks' son and his wife had a new baby girl.

And colors. I am thinking of colors. Tie-dyed reds and purples and yellows, and baby girl pink. Brown of eggshell, gold of yolk. Red of Bradford pear leaves as they fall. Green all around me.

This is a day I plan on taking minute by minute, as if there were actually any other way to do it. I plan on being as easy with it as I can be. Delicate, even. I feel a strange and powerful need to let the balance of the universe's energy be as undisturbed by me as I can.
Is that even possible?
I don't know but I am going to try to dance lightly.

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. I tried to leave a comment after May's but it never went through. But oh my god. She HAS to write a book. It's just not a question. She's too talented.

  2. May wrote a beautiful tribute to her teacher and friend and so did you. I wish I would have known him. Gail

  3. Thinking about the hen who drops her egg wherever. Is she too busy? Oblivious? Resents having to lay eggs, and waiting for "that time" to be over and done with? Do the other hens cluck: "Bless her heart"?

    I loved the tribute you and May wrote about the school and Mr. Rodd. Wonderful teachers are so important.

    And in case you haven't seen this yet, please enjoy!

  4. I love you so much. Your heart is so wide open. You are the living example of love. I am so grateful to know you. Be gentle with this day. Yes. The world is mourning the loss of a good man. Thank you for letting us know.

  5. SJ- I know. I agree. She blows me away. I love and respect her so much. I hope she knows that. I think she does.

    Denise- We try, don't we? Yes. We do.

    Gail- He is going to be so missed. I wonder how many lives he changed for the better. How many lives he may actually have saved.

    Sylvia- I do not know why that chicken lays as she does. Does she have an inferior egg-duct? Does she not care? But you're probably right- the other hens cluck "bless her heart," and then go on about their business. LOVED the link. Wish it wasn't so accurate about our culture.

    Angella- I feel that today. The shifting of things as Rodd passes on, through. Just as the passing on of your cousin's husband created. I love YOU so much. Thank you. Always.

  6. one life leaves, another arrives. we are born to die and die to be born.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.