The sheep are out eating hay. Two withers are playing king of the mountain on the turned over round bale just made short enough to jump on. The goats stand in the barn huddled close together like Armageddon has been bestowed upon them. The sheep eat and chew and play, free from the goat’s constant control and policing. The goats look on with disgust as the sheep with their weather proofing fleece allows them freedom in the rain.
The barn chickens and chicks have re roosted, they came down for a little while hoping for some spilt grain from the mornings milking. Since then there are small streams and rivers making the yard difficult for small and even smaller feet to navigate. The pullets have come out of their coop and now huddle together just outside the door sopping wet. Why don’t they have sense enough to go inside? I think to myself. A question I know better than to ask.
Most of the laying hens are still in the coop with an exception of a couple of brave old hens with priorities of eating. I don’t see the cows or the llamas I suspect they are in that group of trees next to the creek. It must be beautiful. I’ll have to join them.
This is a kind rain, steady and sweet. Tipping her hat as she passes.”Top of the morning to you” she says as she passes through. “how long will you be staying?” another question I know better than to ask.
It’s complicated. This rain isn’t the rain that uproots trees, I’ve seen it, well… after the fact that is.
I still don’t know why my sister didn’t add another window to the rec-room from the insurance money?
That was a big tree. We had a tire swing on that tree. It was a pine taller than a building and as wide as a house. That’s an exaggeration. But it was a grand old pine tree. A childhood friend.
Yes, this is the rain everybody likes. No dramatic lightning and thunder, no angry hail. This rain is kind of like glue that holds everything together, keeps roots alive and strong, and softens brittle branches. This is the spa CD rain, You know that music that is supposed to relax you.
Did I mention the guardian dogs are curled up on the porch and the useless pet dogs are under thick blankets in the yurt lazily sleeping until either the rain passes or the cant hold their bladder any longer.
You know that mocking bird outside the window is singing her head off. Who could blame her?