saturday

The earth beneath me is soft and saturated. I sink into it, making an imprint. Days ago that same earth was hard as concrete beneath my boots. It felt like tiny mountain ridges where the moles had cracked open the topsoil. I thought of walking on mountain tops, seeing a small world below and having such a heavenly view. And yet they are mole hills. I suppose perspective is everything. 

I sit on the porch swing with a love-hungry cat an inch from my face as I try to breath the damp air. My guy made a half and half run and surprised me with flowers, too. His method is the most thoughtful, searching for blooms that speak to him of me. Today they are rusty orange daisies with brilliant green eyes. I cry because I don’t quite know how to just allow love. 

Thunder in the early morning is so eerie and beautiful. The rain comes promptly after it is announced. I love that heaven continually declares. Love the sky that tells tales and speaks in booms to us from above. Every celestial entity knows more than me and is forever communicating the glory of creation. The mystery of it all takes a lifetime to arrive here. I’m still watching and waiting.

I’m half tempted to stand still as a tree and let my bark be soaked. I choose shelter instead and listen to the deafening downpour. The deluge drowns out every passing car. It’s a roaring rain this morning and I’m content to let it rumble right through me. 

It smells a bit like spring and a little girl reminds me that she’s excited for raspberries. I am, too, and remind her it will be June and July before we can partake. She counts down until then, as she always does. My little time-keeper. If ever there was a living calendar, she is that. She senses all the shifts and anticipates what’s to come. Intuitive. A reader of signs. Little brother commented this morning, “Tru, you’re so intense.” They’re both pretty smart.

I hear the hens chirping in a low tone. They get quiet when it gets loud. The run is a sopping mud hole so they’ve opted to take breakfast in the coop. I’m taking my coffee in the breezeway and can feel the spritzing of rain blow in now and again. It’s a near-perfect morning for me. Hello, Saturday.