Where I Started
Gibson was against me in bed, as he has been since he was a puppy. I smiled and kissed his head and in return he curled his spine, pushing back into my chest and covering his head with his paws. That is border collie for "five more minutes". My smile grew wider and I turned over on my back to look outside the window over the daybed. A pair of crows were watching, perhaps ten feet away. I laughed and Gibson stretched all his limbs out and turned his head to look too. He saw the crows and knew not to bark. We don't heckle angels around here.
Light and laughter literally started this morning.
There is no greater blessing than a pair of crows to this farm.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
That decision was made right there.
I turned on the record player. It is such an old beast, but it has such an amazing scratch and crawl. New music on an old machine enchants me. It speeds up my endorphins as much as hugging black fur and drinking light. I put on this record you are hearing now. Old Annie stretched and yawned. I looked for heavy socks to protect my feet from the shock of cold wood and set a percolator and kettle on the stove. I started a fire to warm up the living space.
I am a volunteer for light. Sunlight, firelight, candlelight, musiclight - that is how to begin a morning. Victory was let out of his crate and he ran to me, tail wagging. I poured warm kettle water into a bottle of lamb formula. Once it was ready I sat by the fire and fed him. It is Easter morning and I am woke kissing wolves, mothering lambs, and blessed by crows. I know to some people a farm is a fortress or a prison. To others it is an empire or a career. These are choices for fools.
This wonderful mess of a farm and woman, is light. I know that angers people still looking for their own light. Some people search for it in passports, credit cards, and sex. Others have no idea where to begin. That's one way to live but my light is here. A light I fought to catch and store in a mason jar one firefly at a time. So many disparate points of light needed to be hunted one by one and then held in my hand before they could fill a farmhouse with enough to read prayers by. I used to see that as a burden - needing to collect income, energy, and hope a from so many small things to turn into one farm life. How could I have ever seen a jar of swirling light as anything but beautiful? Why did I choose such a foolish idea?
One of the greatest things you can realize is you don't have to believe everything you think.
So this day will be started with music and coffee. It will continue with chores and then a jog long and hard enough to make my head pound and stomach turn. That is benediction, too. I do not work on design clients or any deadlines on Sundays. This is a day for horses and arrows. It is a day for dogs and fiddles. It is a day to invite friends over for games, whiskey, and stories. It is a day to stop and actually realize what is happening all around me. A day to feel a heavy horse move beneath my legs as I hug his neck. A day to inhale lamb wool. A day to run until my heart bursts. A day to realize that the light around me - all those fireflies - are not here because of chance or luck or the blessing of corvids. They are there because I asked them to be.
Ask for light.
What are you waiting for?
Call your dog.
Grab your reins.
String your bow.
Ask for light.
Catch it and hold fast.
Love it enough to tear you apart.
These are the places I will always go.