hiding

Isis spent the day avoiding us. Ed says he’s harboring a grudge, I say he is in a dazed stupor, fighting off evil bacteria and his suddenly quite feeble state can only accommodate one set of issues at a time. (I always think that for Isis, people present issues: some good, some bad.)

And so he hides. I mean really hides.

My commenters are right to fret about his welfare. Last year, during our June away, we lost Ed’s other cat, Larry. Shy, quiet Larry. He was hit by a car. Our neighbor buried him. Isis doesn’t really go near the road anymore. But the countryside is full of creatures, hiding, waiting. You can see that Isis carries this knowledge always, daily. He looks, pauses and never rests unless he is high up or hidden, well protected. Buried in my flower beds, for example

Me, I’m methodically attending to things. I got many guffaws from my beloveds for writing out for my nephew a many many volume text on how to manage our farmhouse, our animal, our plants. Some would call me compulsive, but if you were spending a month mostly alone in a farmhouse, wouldn’t you want to know what product to use to wipe down the sink in the bathroom? And where to take the compost out? And how many hours it takes to water flower bed A, B & C? And what to do if Isis 'rings' your doorbell compulsively?

My nephew hasn’t been to the States for more than a dozen years. He splits his time now between Sweden and Poland in some fashion – I almost always see him when I travel to Warsaw.

He is ready for the challenge of moving around here only by bike (he doesn’t drive). At 29, he’s a spry and energetic guy and I imagine that even if he had to walk to the nearest store (some four or five miles away) he’d be fine.

I pick him up tonight at the airport – and we eat one of the typical no fuss suppers that are so pleasant to do in the summertime.

I tell him that one of the best ways to spend a late evening is to watch the bat show from the porch after sunset. They’re out now, our wonderful crew of bug eating bandits. They swoop and fly and are never outdone, not even by the fireflies who, too, are trying to do show stopping swirls and dips in the evening.

It truly is summertime. Lee, our farmer friend hides under both a hat and an umbrella as she harvests her fields. 

 

The sun is strong. No rain in the forecast for days on end. 

Even though it should hardly matter for us. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow.