Storms

My night was broken by our first summer storm. Almost no one on our little homestead slept through it, be they pigs, chickens, people. In the breaks between the rain, we could here the pigs grunting and cursing in their shed ; in each flash of lightening, the broken birch across the yard hung dangerously white, framed by the dark door and the vicious sky. Only my little water-baby slept serenely through it all. Nestled in blankets and lolled by the sound of wildness all around.

Today it feels as though the sun has drowned, our whole world is gray and green and dark. I’ve bundled Petka in red wool for her nap, to keep the dark at bay, but Luba and feel it weighing us down. I’ve no fire to drive away the chill, instead I spent the morning with black coffee and heavy eyes in a dark little home, aligning myself to the spirit of the day. Now, thankful for matka's ever willingness to visit the cafe's, I'm tucked beneath the library, posting blogs and feasting on online chatter.