Here I Sit

All the things I need to do are running through my head, but I cannot get my body to respond.

I have lost my followers, not actually, they are still following but my button or connection or whatever you want to call it is gone. Now I can not see the friendly faces who visit me. What has happened?

Hubby and Andrew are out on the river today. Boy Scouts from all over are paddling the White River in canoes. Hubby, as emergency manager, is covering a stretch of river while the canoes paddle through. They may do a little fishing, I hope it is not for Boy Scouts.

I sit, with no inside sounds, the farm sounds are muted by the closed window. I faintly hear the goat talking and the multiple roosters echo from all sides of my room. I have the shade shut so I have no view and seem to enjoy my isolation. I have so few quiet times, it is nice and I just wrap that niceness around me like a warm blanket.

The chores call my name but I am pretending I don't hear that call. The dishes can wait as can the laundry. I am here to enjoy this moment and then I shall go on from there.

My hair is getting longer and thicker and on warm days it is too much. I soon will have the urge to cut my hair again. This I do by feel and never look while I cut. The end product is not bad.

The hunt is on for Copperheads since two have been sited in this yard recently...large ones, poison ones. They must be moving toward the yard because their food source has thinned in the woods. I respect nature and her sometimes cruel cycle but I can not tolerate Copperheads. One has bitten the goat and put her off her feed for a few days. The swelling, I imagine, made it uncomfortable or impossible to eat. Princess has recovered but is always watching the area, side to side, when eating, so I am sure she has smelled the snake again. The hunt or watch will continue until we find a pair and dispatch them...then we can breathe easy, for awhile. Copperheads bear their young live so I hope they have not reproduced yet.

We have also seen a buzzard that is new to our area. The under wings are white and the farmers have been having trouble with them killing the calves. Now what happened to buzzards that wait for death and feed on the carrion? A buzzard that attacks newly born will not last long in a cattleman's county.

It is cooler this morning and has been unseasonably cool for a record of nine days. I am not complaining because July is a hot month, with August being hotter. The flora and fauna can stand the temperature break.

I shall ask the dishes once more if they must be washed now, but if their answer is yes, I fear I will ignore their request.