Tuesday, October 8, 2013
It is dark when the alarm goes off. My girls still asleep, will only rouse when the first light pierces the night sky. I am curled on my side, just resting and waiting for daybreak. Every morning is the same. The gentle cooing of the birds is often the first thing I hear in the morning as I shuffle my way to the coop. Once I open the door, a spring of wings and feathers is released and they flood toward me. Some begin pecking at my broken boot strap that hangs loosely. Some mornings, I talk. Some mornings I move through the mental list of chores for my hens in a silent monk-like state. Mostly, I move slowly and deliberately so I don't step on a bird. They depend upon my care.
By the time I return into the house, Rex my dog has ambled out of bed and is ready to give kisses, to go out and to be fed. Before I rush off to work, my large lap dog will sprawl across my lap, while one cat curls on available lap space while the other sprawls against my shoulder like a fox stole. My morning has been punctuated by crowds of creatures with the only alone time recorded to be while showering. Yet, I am in a state of peaceful acceptance for who I am at this moment. Time might as well stop.