Often, actually every year, I wonder if I disturb our farmhouse's established routine. I'm home in the Summertime. It's quite a luxury, being here, without the rush. I wander, work, talk to Peter, talk to the cats, drink coffee, look at the blue-blue sky. It's so green outside. We have had perfect weather. The lilacs are in bloom, and smell so heavenly.The plants are jumping out their seed trays. I check on them every morning, afternoon, night. I love every one of them. I dream of what they'll become.
I continue to write every day without any false starts. Yesterday, I finished my sixth lyric essay called "Pin-points." There is an essay I want to write, have wanted to write for over a year, but haven't figured it out. Not yet, at least. It's actually a mundane topic that has its ritual. The ritual is what makes me dreamy.
I get lost in thought whenever I'm doing this particular chore. It's a metaphor for our life here on Red Rooster Farm.
Two of my recently written lyric essays, "Surrender" and "Worn Shoes" have been accepted for publication.
This feels like a warm embrace, a kiss on both cheeks; I am so grateful to these editors, for giving my work a