Cardinal sitting in a beam of light from the setting sun. Reddest thing I've ever seen.
Husband home but he left again to go help Vergil with some kitchen stuff and he's on his way home again. He brought home some of the food they made while he was at the beach- a low-country boil with shrimp and crawfish, sausage, potatoes, corn. That's going to be our supper along with some green beans from the garden, some cucumbers and cherry tomatoes. Eating is mighty good this time of year.
That bird's still sitting there. I think he's just taking in the beauty of the end of this fine day. He's not making a sound, just looking around. I would not be surprised at all to discover that birds enjoy such things. I know if I try to take his picture he'll fly away. I'd rather not disturb him.
Whoops! Mick and Nicey and Chi-Chi just came running through the yard and he flew away. Aw well, I've written it down. It happened.
Red bird watches sunset through magnolia leaves.
A not-quite still life.
I'm thinking that the two young chicks are both hens. I don't see one sign of rooster. Of course, I could be very wrong. If I'm right though, the white one with black markings shall be called "Elvira." Perfect. Still not sure about the red one. I'm thinking about it. Maybe Owen will come up with a good name. They seem to be doing well although they are still not an accepted part of the flock. They keep their own company on the fringes. Yesterday I took some tortillas out to crumble for them and they flew across the yard to be first at the feast. How a creature with such insignificant-looking wings can fly, I do not know but they can. They fly low to the ground but they do it.
There may be a metaphor there but I don't really think so.
"What did the author MEAN when she said this?"
Uh. What she said?
I always hated that part of English Lit. Hated it.
And now the man is home and we're about to have a martini walk-about. I'll show him where I weeded in the garden today and he won't be able to tell a thing but I have to brag. I'll show him the zinnias and we'll ooh and ah over the big, fat tomatoes coming on. We'll admire the blooming phlox and probably laugh at our miniature flock of chickens and a duck.
I'm mighty glad he's home. And I hear that Jessie and Vergil have a stove and a refrigerator now. It's all coming along.
Life is a process. I am pretty sure there is no real beginning and no real end except for the obvious ones of birth and death.
It's good to remember that.
It's good to take joy where we can from it, to note things like a cardinal in a beam of light. To hold hands. To say "I love you."
You hear what I'm saying?