It's nice how well I keep you informed of the day behind us -- Monday, it was Monday! Even as for me, the defining term that I think best described this day would be "stormy." A restless, stormy night, followed by a restless daybreak, followed by a stormy day.
The restless part? I blame Isis.
That sweet cat has to stop with the competition as to who will crow/meow first. He has been winning, by the way. Every morning. At five.
And no sooner does Ed do the rounds -- let out Isis, wait for him to want to reenter, feed him, let out chickens -- then the storms come. One after another. All morning long.
You could say I am the lucky one -- not doing animal duty, after all. But staying in bed, awake, feeling somewhat guilty for offloading all animal care isn't exactly delicious or relaxing. Especially as you listen to the world outside rumble and you imagine your garden flowers folding over and giving up for good.
When I finally come down to make breakfast, there is a lull in the air. One set of storms has passed, the next has not yet arrived. And so I take our meal out to the porch...
...only to hear the crash of thunder again.
It's not safe! Let's go back in!
You're kidding, right?
No, it's not safe!
I'm finishing my breakfast right here.
In the end, I go inside and open the window to the porch, so that we can continue our conversation -- Ed out there, me at the kitchen table. I have to admit, it seems silly on my part, but ask me how much I like being outside in storms! Oh, but why ask, you know the answer!
We do eventually have periods of calm.
The chickens come out of hiding (the barn is their safe haven) and indeed, push the boundaries of their farmette exploration...
Me, I barely go out. A few errands, a few quick runs through the garden...
(see the frog in the day lily?)
...then home to write.
But if you ask me if I like wet summer days, I'll say yes. Perhaps not every day, but still, I do. There is something so safe and precious about being inside when the rain comes down. Warm summer rain. It keeps the flowers and frogs happy. And that's a good thing.
The restless part? I blame Isis.
That sweet cat has to stop with the competition as to who will crow/meow first. He has been winning, by the way. Every morning. At five.
And no sooner does Ed do the rounds -- let out Isis, wait for him to want to reenter, feed him, let out chickens -- then the storms come. One after another. All morning long.
You could say I am the lucky one -- not doing animal duty, after all. But staying in bed, awake, feeling somewhat guilty for offloading all animal care isn't exactly delicious or relaxing. Especially as you listen to the world outside rumble and you imagine your garden flowers folding over and giving up for good.
When I finally come down to make breakfast, there is a lull in the air. One set of storms has passed, the next has not yet arrived. And so I take our meal out to the porch...
...only to hear the crash of thunder again.
It's not safe! Let's go back in!
You're kidding, right?
No, it's not safe!
I'm finishing my breakfast right here.
In the end, I go inside and open the window to the porch, so that we can continue our conversation -- Ed out there, me at the kitchen table. I have to admit, it seems silly on my part, but ask me how much I like being outside in storms! Oh, but why ask, you know the answer!
We do eventually have periods of calm.
The chickens come out of hiding (the barn is their safe haven) and indeed, push the boundaries of their farmette exploration...
Me, I barely go out. A few errands, a few quick runs through the garden...
(see the frog in the day lily?)
...then home to write.
But if you ask me if I like wet summer days, I'll say yes. Perhaps not every day, but still, I do. There is something so safe and precious about being inside when the rain comes down. Warm summer rain. It keeps the flowers and frogs happy. And that's a good thing.
