Please, someone, don't let me go so many days in between blog posts.
I have so many thoughts and sights and sounds and smells built up, I feel like exploding and consequently don't know where to begin.
So, instead of trying to catch up on all the momentous "lasts" that are pounding us each and every day, I will tell you that this evening there is a haze across our valley. It is hot, in the mid-80's (don't mock me, Mom, it really did feel hot!). I have my window open in my upstairs bedroom, but downstairs, the a/c is on and I can hear it hum. Mr. Bill, the white duck is waddling through the west pasture, all by himself. Usually he is marching around the farm with the trio of Rouen ducks. I wonder why he is all by his lonesome? He is quacking softly.
The whirr of summer insects is the background noise to the conversation of various songbirds. Mr. Bill walks back toward the pond and quacks.
Where are those other ducks? Ribeye, the steer, and Coco and Mary munch on grass. A lamb baas for his mama. The faint sound of kid noise wafts in and I wonder if the two-legged ones are playing in the barn?
The willow tree by the pond doesn't look like a young sylvan teenager this evening. She is still. Sober. Green, but not the green of April.
Mr. Bill walks by the red bottom gate again, muttering. Heading west, up the duck path.
Where are those other ducks?
Okay, so I walked out to the deck with computer and saw the ducks, slowly trailing behind old Mr. Bill. He finally convinced them to move. They wander along, grazing the nice green grass. Directly in front of me is a 3/4 full moon, sliding along the ridge, heading to the west.
Makes me think that it is incomprehensible that in a couple of weeks we, too, will be sliding to the west.
How is that possible?
The little girls are playing in the creek with Enat and Emily and Yabsera, visiting from Waxhaw, NC. Rose and Emily, so tall this summer, have been friends since they were babies in strollers. Before Julie even dreamed of trips to Ethiopia. Before we even held Nora in our arms. Allen and Thomas are playing computer games in the dining room. Maggie chats with a friend on the phone and Patrick is at Boy Scout camp.
Julie is reading a book. I sit and type and watch the swallows dip and soar. And rejoice in the lovely blue of the graceful little birds and wonder at the way all creation gives praise to its Creator, simply by being itself.
What a concept. Makes me think of this morning's Psalms from the Daily Office, which I would share with you, if I cared to get up from my sweet little table out here on the deck. But I guess I will stay put and hope you open up the Psalms yourself occasionally. Even if you are not a believer, there are some amazing pieces of poetry in the book of Psalms that let you know that David spent some time sitting still outside, appreciating the world that surrounded him.
Kids return to the house, Rose has a tiny bowl of wineberries which she picked in our woods. We have only a few of the bushes on our property. There were quite a few along the road, but the other day the County used some of our tax money to send along a truck to spray them and all the wildflowers with poisons. Which is another blog post, I guess. Enough said about that. Children were glad to take their handful of berries from the organic woods inside to devour as an evening snack. Dogs came out here to sit near me on the deck and to pant, exhausted by their run by the creek.
I should be weedeating or mowing, but am happy to watch the moon and the swallows, feeling the moist evening air fall on my skin, as little girl piano music acccompanies crickets and tree frogs and the sound of kids and spoons and cereal bowls. ( They tell me that the sweet tart taste of the wineberries with Crispix is like a dream it is so good.)
Sundays are a good time to be still. I have a feeling that the weedeating and mowing will be waiting for us bright and early in the morning.
PS We have a contract on a house in Texas. A place to move. They will let us rent until we sell the farm, which we hope will happen before the contract runs out Jan. 31st. We have some friends coming to caretake the farm and they will have their own stories to share. I am so grateful things are lining up. Now, all we need is some way for the person who is dying to buy this farm to find out about it and come up with enough money! The days are running together just like the stripes of the tigers chasing their tails as they fought over little Sambo's birthday clothes. It is tempting to work around the clock. But I strive to remember that while there is a time for work, there is also a time to pause. Am glad, because if not, I wouldn't be sitting on my deck right now, looking at our dear little red-winged blackbird, sitting on the post by the edge of the pond.
PPS It is still hazy, but no longer hot. The cool of evening is upon us and the moon has slid along the ridge to the right of me. Sun is down and the perfume of our pansies makes it a very sweet place to sit.