I once said, “There will be chickens.” I like it when I keep promises to myself, fruition earned through action and perseverance.
The small flock of hens outside our back door has added a subtle, new tone to our life — there is something sweet, sincere, and steady about opening the coop door, hearing the soft peeps and clucks, checking the galvanized steel feeder and scattering grit.
Each day is bookended with “letting the chickens out” and “putting the girls in.” Beginning and ending with this small and gentle purpose. A humble effort.
She brings a book and sits inside their pen on a small blue milking stool (found just the day before the coop was finished — I hid it in the shed and gave it to her with a smile and a serious gaze, anointing her Chicken Mama, Feeder and Catcher and Petter and, if we do this well, Egg Gatherer).
A week ago, three Tibetan monks sat on my brother’s couch and intoned blessings on his house and family. They scattered rice and “Buddha’s nectar,” urged us to build upon positive love and keep negative forces at bay. I left with a white, gauzy scarf inscribed with prayers. Turns out, blessings can be carried home.
[ED: Technically, The 5×5 Creative Challenge is over. June is over. This has been such a great nudge for me to practice, practice, practice. To show up and make time. I have a few more posts in the draft folder, so I’ll carry on for a bit. Thanks for coming along!]