This morning was hectic. We just couldn't seem to get going and there seemed to be so much that needed to be done, though none more than usual. Finally at work with a chance to sit down, it occurred to me: it took longer because I stood admiring the views.
The wind startled me 10 minutes before the alarm had planned to bring me out of my not-so-deep sleep. I laid in bed for a few minutes listening to the sound, trying to discern if there was a tornado out there or if it was just the way the wind was catching the tin roofing. Eventually, my paranoia bid me take a look and I got up anyway.
Spring brings Saskatchewan's motto, "Land of the living skies", to the forefront, and sets the pace for the rest of the warmer season. The blue becomes an epic tropical sea, cleaned by the wind and kept blue by the long days of sun. The clouds are magnificent when they form, large and billowing white, or expansive and dark beneath. Cumulonimbus are my favorite, next the the foreboding mammatus clouds that precede the rolling and twisting clouds that form tornados. You could hide a city in those clouds, so large and alive that you would be certain there had to be an entire universe enveloped in there.
I did take extra time this morning, and it was worth it. Hearing Walter bawling when he woke to find Mom missing, seeing Estelle run, also bawling, to his rescue, bunting anything with her head that may get in her way. One momma rabbit happily hopped from her nest to have some fresh water and to check if there were any surprises in her feed dish. A moving mass of pulled fur tells me there is, indeed, something alive under there, but I don't know how many. I do know, however, that the little one that must of surprised her hasn't been kicked out of the nest.
Yesterday, I found a new born rabbit laid on the wire floor, just outside the nest. I picked it up to remove it from the cage, and the warmth of my hands must of roused it from near death, as it gasped and began moving, despite being so incredibly cold. I all but ran to Moose, little kit closed up in my hands while exhaled warm air onto it to keep it going. "Put it in the nest," he said, "all we can do is give it that chance." So I did. And it remains there.
Even the birds greeted me, this new group friendlier than any other I've brooded before, and the owl-looking easter egger warming up to the environment. The new, royal purple guineas trilled at my arrival, but didn't run away, and the ducks quacked in their pen and watched me carefully, cautiously.
All I could do was breathe. There's something about it. I stepped out of the coop and approached the car for the morning ride into work. A garden is supposed to be going there, the kennel will go there, and soon, the former landlord's stuff won't be there. There will be squash there, and peas there, maybe some rhubarb there. And one day, one day, I will work here. I will stay here, and cook here, and make it because here, here is now, and real, and a malleable truth. And I am so deeply in love with all of it, with Moose, and with these living skies, that I am home.
The wind startled me 10 minutes before the alarm had planned to bring me out of my not-so-deep sleep. I laid in bed for a few minutes listening to the sound, trying to discern if there was a tornado out there or if it was just the way the wind was catching the tin roofing. Eventually, my paranoia bid me take a look and I got up anyway.
Spring brings Saskatchewan's motto, "Land of the living skies", to the forefront, and sets the pace for the rest of the warmer season. The blue becomes an epic tropical sea, cleaned by the wind and kept blue by the long days of sun. The clouds are magnificent when they form, large and billowing white, or expansive and dark beneath. Cumulonimbus are my favorite, next the the foreboding mammatus clouds that precede the rolling and twisting clouds that form tornados. You could hide a city in those clouds, so large and alive that you would be certain there had to be an entire universe enveloped in there.
I did take extra time this morning, and it was worth it. Hearing Walter bawling when he woke to find Mom missing, seeing Estelle run, also bawling, to his rescue, bunting anything with her head that may get in her way. One momma rabbit happily hopped from her nest to have some fresh water and to check if there were any surprises in her feed dish. A moving mass of pulled fur tells me there is, indeed, something alive under there, but I don't know how many. I do know, however, that the little one that must of surprised her hasn't been kicked out of the nest.
Yesterday, I found a new born rabbit laid on the wire floor, just outside the nest. I picked it up to remove it from the cage, and the warmth of my hands must of roused it from near death, as it gasped and began moving, despite being so incredibly cold. I all but ran to Moose, little kit closed up in my hands while exhaled warm air onto it to keep it going. "Put it in the nest," he said, "all we can do is give it that chance." So I did. And it remains there.
Even the birds greeted me, this new group friendlier than any other I've brooded before, and the owl-looking easter egger warming up to the environment. The new, royal purple guineas trilled at my arrival, but didn't run away, and the ducks quacked in their pen and watched me carefully, cautiously.
All I could do was breathe. There's something about it. I stepped out of the coop and approached the car for the morning ride into work. A garden is supposed to be going there, the kennel will go there, and soon, the former landlord's stuff won't be there. There will be squash there, and peas there, maybe some rhubarb there. And one day, one day, I will work here. I will stay here, and cook here, and make it because here, here is now, and real, and a malleable truth. And I am so deeply in love with all of it, with Moose, and with these living skies, that I am home.