I Am Not Cranky. I Am Pissy

Here we have a Gulf Fritillary on a marigold. Now, because I have the weird need to point out my deficiencies whenever possible, I will tell you that I was pretty far away when I took that picture, thus the vast imperfection of it, but I was holding a basket with one hand, the phone in the other, and did not want to move because I was afraid the butterfly would get scared off. 
So. That is what you get. 

I've been cranky again today but mostly in my mind. I think I'd rather call how I'm feeling as pissy. Yes. I am pissy. But again, I've been as nice as can be to my husband and also to a young man who's been doing some work for Glen on Tom's house and property. He came over this afternoon for a few minutes and he was just the sweetest guy. Well, the guy isn't that young. He has children and everything. He and his wife are friends with Jessie and Vergil, I do believe. 
Whatever. The point is- my pissiness mostly extends to myself. I am simply in a rather angry mood and feel as if I am a worthless old woman who is taking up space that would be far better used by, let's say, a young person with children. 
Now please, please do not start telling me that's not true and listing ways that I am not worthless and so on and so forth. I know all of that. It's just that sometimes this is the way I feel and there's no getting around it. 
It will pass. 
And I have to tell you about a truly almost-magical experience I had today. I was working outside on one of the beds beside the back porch steps, trying to clear out border grass and crocosmia and so forth. We all know this story by now. It was shady there and I thought it would not be so horribly hot but it was. Still, I managed to work for almost an hour before my glasses were so covered in sweat that I couldn't see. 
And that translated to this much cleared space. 

Why, after all this time, do I think that pulling up these vile plant-enemies of mine will be such a simple task? 
Because obviously, I am a slow learner. 
But I did that much and I trimmed a bit of the wisteria growing on the arbor right beside that bed and then, when I had done all I felt I could do, I went to go into the house via the back porch steps when I looked down right in front of the door we go in and out of on the top step to see this. 

My brain didn't even register it at first. And then...it did. 
What in the world was this? 
I bent over and picked it up. It may be glass but I really don't think so. I believe it may be uncut purple quartz which we also call amethyst. I can recognize no shape or form of glass it could have been a part of and honestly, it doesn't matter. 
I can think of no other reason for it to be right there where I was sure to find it than that a crow left it for me. 
It did not fall from the sky. It did not fall from the pecan tree. It did not fall from the roof. Glen did not put it there. Maurice most certainly did not bring it to me. I have never seen it in my life. 
And you know- I feel a certain sort of wonder at this. How could I not? 
I will readily admit that I began feeding the crows because of this very thing. That people who feed crows are often given gifts, often of shiny things, the crows seem to leave for them as...what? Tokens of appreciation? Equal trade representations? Encouragement to keep on feeding them?
Whatever it is, it feels like an acknowledgement. Just as I have come to recognize these five very, very large crows who come to eat at the stumps where I lay out their mealworms and peanuts, they seem to recognize that I, the woman they see placing those things on the stumps and whom they can see opening that porch door and going down those steps with their food in my hands, am responsible for these goodies. Whatever their motive is in leaving treasures doesn't matter to me. I can't even begin to understand what goes on in the mind of a crow. What I do understand is that they have come to know me and my habits and that is pretty darn swell. 
I am quite overwhelmed, to tell you the truth. 

I've been cooking a pot of black, pinto, and red beans with smoked turkey leg pieces most of the day. The reason for the mixture is that I didn't have enough of one kind of bean to fill the pot. They look lovely and they taste very, very good. I'm also cooking a pot of collard greens but obviously not collard greens that I've grown. I feel sort of like a person who sticks artificial flowers in vases for a photo shoot. This is cheating. 
But I'm craving them, plus, I want to taste some of my pepper vinegars. The greens have been in my refrigerator for days and they certainly weren't exactly young and tender when they got cut up and put in the bag in which I bought them. 
Oh well. Needs must. And I am doing the southern MeeMaw thing and cooking the ever-loving hell out of them. 

Perhaps I'll make some rice to go with or perhaps I'll just make some cornbread. 

I've worked on my fish some more. Why is this so satisfying? 

Tomorrow is pottery and so I'll wrap her back up and pack the glazes and see what I get accomplished in class. 
I am sort of thinking that my next project might be a bowl in which I can put our collection of crow treasures in. I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Would it be shaped and glazed to resemble a crow or would it be a regular bowl with a crow image inside it? Or a leaf bowl with a crow inside it? A magnolia leaf bowl, perhaps. 
I shall ponder. It will come to me. 

No change in Glen's friend's condition. 
Maurice continues to spend a great deal of time on his lap. 
As he said, "She knows."

Love...Ms. Moon