Notes From The Barnyard, Soggy Morning

Merricat and Robin

The morning is soggy with last nights rain.  “We need it,” we say, “it’s good for the grass.”

The air is chilly, the sun an intense pale, yellow glow in the clouds.   There are so many birds, I hear them more than see them.

The day already feels more hopeful than yesterday with it’s broken egg and dead snake.

Bud lets himself in and out of the house, the only dog who knows how to open the back door.   Zinnia and Zip run along the fence together, one on either side.  When the get to the end they touch noses then go their own way. Fate runs round and round the grazing sheep without me telling her to.

Even with all the rain, the sheep and donkeys spend most of the night outside.  I can tell by how little manure there is in the barn.  I wonder where they were when the lightening wouldn’t stop flashing.  I wonder if it frightens them the way it frightened me, that one loud thunderclap that woke me 4am and gave me bad dreams for the rest of the night.

Thunder rumble softly in the fog of trees on the hill.

A single goose flies low over the farm. Back and forth calling and calling.   I hear the answer north and south of us, but the goose can’t seem to settle.

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