triffids are gaining a foothold with this sun-after-rain we've had, and I spent the evening in valiant battle.
I absolutely love the greenness of my home and region, and can't complain. And then, of course, there's this—I love grazing animals. Grazing animals love grass and grass loves rain, and so I take the drizzle and enjoy it. To add to the fun, on those rare occasions where Sir Sol shows his face there's hardly a chore I'd rather do than mow or weedwhack. Thus I am fulfilled, though not without my constant dreams of acquisition. A horse-drawn mower? A scythe? I'd like them.
I spent much of this afternoon mowing, and the morning writing. I feel at home in my skin. I love my life, my family, my one green acre. I love my mule, and my work.
Speaking of such matters, I will be a little spare with my posts these next few weeks. We're having company—my beloved brothers and extended family—and I expect to be busy. The garden, the mule, the goats, the children, the chickens, the rabbits, the dog, the cats, the constant growth of vegetation on our one beautiful, green acre . . . and friends, and family, and love. What better way to be "too busy?"
And then there's writing, of which I have done much today. It's addictive, in the sense that writing a little leads to writing a lot and writing a lot leads to not wanting to stop—wanting to write chapters, books, then more—shelves and shelves of them. This, and the fact that I've actually managed to find READERS, tells me something. It tells me that I am doing what I should be doing. It feels like honest work.