(our hens, mostly nameless….for eggs only)
true to form: we are losing power here….the computer/stove/lights/dishwasher/washer and dryer and every other damn thing that runs on this invisible juice. Anyone I have missed in visiting, I will try to make admends…. tomorrow or when we stabilize. Thanks…
Haibun: Weather Report
Solitude is shared
by night time crickets, plus owl
the moon must approve
soft moonbeam filters dust motes
a thousand fish swim upstream
My solitude was enforced by a hot summer and then a 43 day drought. They haven’t seen such since 1884. From inside, I watched bushes dry up, flower beds melt and a vegetable garden giving up the ghost. Our water bills, the second highest in the country, tripled when we tried to water. Digging up an ailing rosebush, the soil was baked brick. Amazed the rose bush survived. Half was gone. The vegetable garden whimpered when I passed.
This fall brought tragedy. A beloved cat, Stripy. One month on and I am still mourning. Our seventeen year old Golden/Chow is getting quarrelsome. The addition of Mia, an English Staffordshire bull terroir isn’t helping his disposition. We are all aging here, even the hens. The good news is this drought is to be broken a little starting tonight. There are 30 forest fires burning in North Georgia. We hear these fires will be burning until Xmas. Even those of us who don’t believe in prayer, are praying.
Frosty autumn night
The moon glides through chilly dreams
Red Maple stands sentry
The rains have started this morning, around 2am. I could smell it…still far in the distance, like an old camel, so thirsty we are for any rain after 43 days. It started gently, as if washing the grime off the skin of our world and then harder and harder to dissolve the dirt. The sound of the baritone wind chime outside my bedroom window gave the most beautiful music as if welcoming the rain with a celestial song, for what is a wind chime but a way for the wind to announce its presence besides a howl? I opened windows and smelled the combined smell of asphalt, ozone and moisture. I thought of some Berbers I knew, who wrote songs about the rain only falling every five years in parts of the desert. O, Blessed Rain!