The Rhythm Is Gonna Getcha!

It wasn't a typical morning of chores, as I will soon reference, but I was out getting it done.  Doing my best to stay present in the current task so I don't overlook something critical to the safety of my animals, the ring of the phone caught me off guard.  The caller ID showed a long series of numbers with no dashes which I have come to recognize quickly as an international call.

"Hello!"
"Hello, Noelle? This is Michel from France."

It was a surreal moment in that I suddenly was being transported over the continent and an ocean to a memory of one of my visits to France.  I didn't meet Michel in France, but his accented English and manner of speaking had me comfortably seated in a cafe in Brest.

Michel and his wife Danielle were here in Bend a few weeks ago. They discovered Maverick's and had come out dancing several of the nights they were in town.  They are avid dancers in France.  The minute I saw them take the first step in my lesson, I thought, "We need to talk."  As it turns out, they come to this area every year for a month or so to ski, and now to dance.

Michel had called to get the names of the dances I had taught that night so they could start sharing them with their group.  Considering I forgot to lock in the hens last night, I was hard pressed to remember what I taught in that lesson.  I asked him if he remembered the first steps of any of the dances and he said, "Yes! Skate, skate."  Say no more, that is Covered in Kisses.  In that instant he couldn't remember the steps of the other two dances, but he said, "They will come to me as I have been practicing them.  I will be in my garden and suddenly, I start dancing!"

Such kindred spirits.  The romance of a garden in France with sweet tender blossoms, inspiring one to chasse over to the next planter pairs with wandering the dry lot with a manure cart and fork and breaking out in a triple step while avoiding the little hooves of circling goodles.

Holy Coldiculous!

That's right, there's a new adjective in town and I'm registering it: coldiculous.

It's the word that describes perfectly the frigid night air that is so crystal clear it could slice the tip of your nose, the kind of temperature in which your eyes go on overtime to keep them watered to prevent them from freezing up in their sockets, that wicked little chill that turns your digits into icicles even when wearing thermal lined gloves.

This happened fast.  Just last evening it was delightfully pleasant out there.  Is this what they call a snap?

The thermometer on my porch read 20 degrees.  Aside from the horse water which is heated, all other water buckets are already frozen, and I don't mean just a layer of thin ice, I mean break the ice and bring them all into the garage to thaw out so I can refill them in the morning.  It's so cold already at 8:30pm that scooping horse poop was more like scooping poop cubes, scraping across what felt like concrete rather than loose dirt.

The time has come to pull out the official cold weather wear.  Liners under jeans are laughed at by that below 32 wizard.  It's time to get serious and face these coldiculous nights like a true super shero.

A flight to Hawaii anyone?

Cleanse

For the past few days we've had heavy air in and out coming from the wild fires burning.  The mornings have been especially thick and fortunately as the days wore on, the air would lighten up.  The presence of an undeniable lingering cloak not be ignored.

Today we had a thunderstorm roll through; it rained a bit.  The air shifted.

Much later tonight, the earth smelled rich with moisture.  It seems to have rained again.

They talk about the skies opening up in a storm.  They certainly did--straight to the heavens!  The sky is crystal clear.

The Milky Way is streaming directly overhead.  There are those stars that are so close, they can almost be reached by a determined finger.  And behind those stars is another layer, just beyond reach.  And when setting aside all expectations of the night sky, letting the corners of the eyes be wide, that deepest layer of stars that just begins to lead far into the solar system appears.

Try to hold a finger up and find a space that wide between stars and planets.  Impossible tonight.

There are twinklers, winkers, color changers and the ever steady.

Diving into the window of mystery, the shooting stars are reminders that nothing stays the same.


Dedicated to Max.  May she always be safe.

The Sweetest Kiss

My right arm over Hy Note's back, my left arm cradling his chest, I am resting my head on his withers.

  

As he chews hay out of the feed cart, I gaze up.  

The night is perfectly adorned with magnificent stars dancing around the waxing moon.  

Quiet. Pure. Precious.  

Holding him tight, dreaming I disappear into his nobility.

I inhale deeply, the corners of my mouth turned up, 

so glad that I know the earthy candy-like smell of a horse.  

Holding him tighter to move with his breath, I close my eyes.

This is my sweetest kiss goodnight.

Can a Rooster Count?

One of my baby hens, Honey, is in my chicken special care unit for tonight.  With much hope she will pass the remainder of a bound egg.  My special care unit is so flexible, it changes names depending on which animal is in there.  But, to my point.

In the early evening, I walked down to the hen house to collect any pearls the girls may have left for me.  Two.  The other 10 hens were inside their high rise, settling in at dusk, but Red was pacing outside.  He was looking around, under the big juniper and back out again.  I believe he was looking for Honey.

Red is one very gentle, respectful Rooster.  He is loyally protective of his girls.  He tries to mount them every now and again and if they scoot out from under him, he just goes around in a circle almost a little embarrassed that he even tried.  So, here it was, time to head in to safety for the night and one of his hens was missing.

In my best gallo speak, I explained that she was with me and assured him I was looking after her for the night.  I hope he understood me.  The last thing I would want is for Red to think he lost a hen on his watch.

Sweet dreams, Red.

Celestial Wardrobe

Tonight's moonless sky

 like a rhinestone-studded

soft

black satin dress

 adorned

with a blazing sash

of the spiral Milky Way

no beginning

and

no end.