Sunday, July 21, 2013

it's a mean world out there...

When you wake up to a lovely summer Sunday, with no pressure points to it, just the usual good breakfast on the porch...

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... with a glance at the farmette flowers (through the porch screen)...

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... and at the baby birds up there in the garage eves, waiting for their grub...

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...and the hummingbirds coming in for the nectar...

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...and the cardinal pair chasing each other without a care...

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...And after all that, when you go to yoga class,  where the instructor talks in soft tones and the class breathes and moves in unison (even as each does his or her own rendition of the next move and the one after)...

...When you come home then to a quiet day and you devote yourself to rescuing flowers from weeds and from thirst and they grateful respond in their full glorious presentation...

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...You tend to forget about the edge to a day, or to existence itself.

Until your cat steps outside and walks boldly and daringly past the garage  and the swallows, alarmed, swoop down on him in attack and he jumps high in the air to let them know who's boss --- this is when you are reminded that it's a tough world out there!

So whom do you protect? I say to Ed -- let's get Isis out of that path, they're going to tear his eyes out!
And Ed responds -- ...unless he goes after their little ones and tears their eyes out.

In truth, Isis isn't much of a bird chaser. It's not his thing. In younger years he'd go after the occasional mouse, just so he could assert his domain over the world out there. Mostly though he hangs low and minds his own business. But the courtyard -- that space between farmhouse, garage and flowerbeds -- is charged right now as the birds feed their growing pack and our cat parades back and forth, back and forth, exuding a threat by his very existence.

In other news -- I bite the bullet and spend a good bit of time watering (and weeding) the flowers and strawberries leading to the sheep shed. I tend to neglect the stuff growing there because the sheep shed, after all, begs for neglect, but I felt a twinge of pity today and so I hold the hose high and swap as best as I can at the mosquitoes disturbed by my efforts.

Fine. The flowers appear appreciative. But why is it that the minute, THE MINUTE I go inside, the weather predictors begin to speak of rain for the evening?

And indeed, this is no idle threat. It does rain.

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So much so that I quickly convert the Sunday outdoor grill dinner to a Sunday indoor stove top dinner. Away from the rain that lashes wildly against the screens.

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Oh well. The kids seem okay with it.

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And no one complained about the stove-top cooking (sigh -- these are the tail end of the garden peas).

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And eventually the rains die down and the weather people tell us that we'll have ourselves a glorious week ahead.

I can live with that.