Monday, June 16, 2025, 54*, 0650
The three are not impressed with the detour through the living room to the kitchen to the water bowl and biscuits. The folded Acacia Wood picnic table leans where I was able to push it just inside the door. Not so long ago I carried it across the drive, up the ramp, unfolded the metal feet, turned it over, set it in place. Oh age! What have you done with my strength?
Yesterday, Mariah performed her drying work. Today, Soleil brings a quiet light to leaves upturned in thirst. In the absence of a peeper chorus, lured by solar lights, three moths now rest on pressure-treated railing.
Within the green canopy, voices. Seven voices perhaps speaking of the beginning, of clouds, of the low water in the pond. If asked, could they tell me about the beaver colony and their expansion plans? Could they show me the best place to mount a trail camera?
Until I learn the language of birds, I won't recognize their answers.
ICM Photo: LJ Austin
