Sgiobalta is playing with her moonshadow.
And I know it’s supposed to be a chore,
but oh how I love the smell of cut grass
and the spotting of Queen Anne’s Lace to go around it
and of milkweed to go around it
and those little yellow flowers that look like balloons to go around them.
Also I leave where daisies and Black-Eyed Susans grow together, because that is clearly good luck,
Sorcha and Dorcha.
And I leave the mint alone on the west side and I leave the thyme alone on the east side,
and the chamomile on the south,
because aren’t they lovely ground covers?
Perhaps I am not so much mowing as curating.
That’s all right, then.
We’ve already had a walkies
and our kibble-and-coffee
and our first couch snuggle.
Now is for lying between Mamaidh’s feet
and watching a birdie on the lawn
without even woofing.
Good dog, Max.
Steps forward, steps back, steps forward again.
Little Dog Max is sitting nicely on the front step,
dry under the eaves,
watching the rains fall,
sniffing the air.
I am, too.
It’s a perchy-feet,
a meadow singer,
an early bird.
Some I know by sound, but not this one,
though the song is familiar.
Never mind the poetry! I have just discovered that The National Zoo has this covered!!!! I am hearing an American Goldfinch. Follow the decision tree until you have a group of birds to choose from, click on the name to hear their song. OK, that is community science education that I’m proud to have my tax dollars fund.
For serious, the National Zoo never disappoints.
Right there, waiting for me,
gibbous and jolly.
She points toward the sun with her roundness, remember.
The dogs and I turned on the sprinklers (such wealth of water!)
and played laughing in the rain which is not rain and which
comes and goes.
That is a silly, gentle rain on a hot morning,
and deserving of dog-laughter.
The sun and the moon have given over the field
to the stars
and I am wide awake from listening to the night
and I step out, so close to sleep that, unfiltered, I say,
“Hello, lovers,” knowing exactly whom I’m speaking to but without knowing why.
After a few days of haze and cloud, the sky is crisp and the shine of the galaxy dances and plays and sings.
Jupiter is right there and points to Saturn.
One firefly is still awake in our meadow.
Good to meet you.
Then there could be two blessings:
the pleasure of the writing,
and the pleasure of going back and reading it fresh.
Something good is happening to me.
Finding their partners with their on-off codes against a backdrop of other fireflies.
I hope you found what you sought.
A nearly perfect week,
I woke and started thinking and that’s not the way to peacefully get back to sleep.
So I settled in to the comfy chair where I could see Jupiter keeping awake with me. Jupiter is a friendly presence and sings quietly to himself as I watch or work or wonder.
Then BOOM! the old crescent moon pops into view.
She is riding low of due east right now, and she is so old and it is so close to the solstice that she is simply a letter C, rocking back only slightly, to point at a sun that is nearly rising and nearly at the northernmost part of that journey.
I’m grateful for the company, Jupiter and Moon.
but it’s before the rest of the household.
Max and I are listening to the rain water drip off the roof onto leaves below
and some birdies.
He is lying between my legs on top of the soft grey blanket.
His eyelids are drooping and he’s snoring very softly.
This is a very nice place for puppies.
I am healthy and whole and fed and sheltered and privileged and educated and engaged in meaningful work which I enjoy and loved by a beautiful family of extraordinary people.
Why do I feel useless and afraid and lonely?
I believe in my heart that when I am about to make a breakthrough of some kind, all of the homunculae in my mind — who cling to the familiar — throw every obstacle they can think of into my path to stall the journey.
Back into the fray, locked for generations into a battle against my arch-enemy: myself.