The Mess

The Mess

“Ignore the mess.”

I used to say that sometimes.

I sometimes say it still; 

A prayer for understanding and 

Release from expectations that the

World has carried us so far beyond 

that they should be a

Memory as old as cave paintings. 

Which mess, anyway?

The art project pile of cardboard nearly as tall as my head.

The earthly remains of puppy toys 

Scattered like ashes across the floor.

The garden gone wild, miscellaneous 

Debris from last growing season 

Left behind like crime scene 

Evidence of fatigue.

Maybe social skills 

Grown rusty and hard to open like the

Seldom used gate with the latch that sticks.

The conversational tongue that stutters around awkward silences when the words can’t find their way.

The other that spills pent-up words and emotions like the weight inside his chest 

Broke the levee wide open. 

The bare and aching spirits left out in the open

Like last night’s dishes still in the drainer

For anyone to see.

Unkempt, but not forgotten, 

Not unloved. 

Living. 

Breathing. 

Being. 

Fallow and trying to rest; 

Eager for Spring.

Sunday - Dreams of Forgiveness

I’m back to starting my day at my desk, writing in my journal. It feels good to be back in this rhythm. (Thanks, Hank.)

When I woke this morning I came out of a dream that I am sad to have lost the beautiful details of, but which had me in a place where giving grace and kindness and forgiveness mattered so much that my mind stayed in that space the few moments I was still abed. I hope it stays there for a while longer.

Mary has been busy crowing the sun up the sky, and out this south-facing window I can see the fruit of his work as the sky gets brighter and brighter. The corvine crows have gone by several times on their early morning missions, cawing and calling. Perhaps encouraging Mary, perhaps encouraging the sun. Perhaps doing their own crow things and not paying attention to the rest of us.

That “us” - my mind spoke it with the someplaces British pronunciation. Uz. Welcome to the weirdness of my brain.

Currently 22 degrees here, feels like 15. Currently extremely grateful that we built the barn and coop last year, and that I have the physical ability to haul warm water to the chickens. Hail, chickens, givers of eggs and fluffy butt happiness.

By the by, after the last cold snap all of our girls are now laying their eggs inside the old roosting box instead of on the floor. I hope that practice continues, but one never knows with chickens.

And also by the by, Mojo spent about an hour hanging with us and playing in the living room proper last night whilst Hank was passed out on the couch. Cottage normal seems to be on the horizon.

I’m holding hope for a quiet day here. Maybe some chores. Maybe some kitchen witching. Definitely some writing.

What’s going on with you?

Peace out, peeps. Be easy if you can.

p.s.: Double-decker cats for cat and Cottage tax.

#bearpathcottage

#mojo

#chickentales

#onthebearpath