Day 127

I love how this panorama turned out, like a folding book, and giving a sense of how it feels to stand in the meadow and look around. 

I think I can see the mockingbird sitting on her nest.  Her mate sings to her to keep her company, sometimes forgetting that I am there too. 

Catbirds meowed at me today in their rasping way, reminding me of our little kitten Gracie, that we found all abandoned and stuck in our fence in South Africa one cold wet evening.  Such a persistent life-force from this tiny bedraggled creature, such a strong voice, such comical antics once she was warm and fed!  And this old Lily-cat, all moth-eaten, lumpy-furred, bony, but still causing me to smile every time she comes to see me, to be stroked.  I can understand how having a pet is really good for old people. 

Sadness permeated my day, from several quarters.  I only ran 2 km, just a short run through the evening meadow, surprising the same beehive rabbit, so she must have a den nearby.  And our frogs seem to be fine, piping and croaking in the late light.  The birds at the pond sing liquid songs.

I carried out all my wintering plants yesterday, to spend their summer outside, to experience birds sitting in their branches, rain splashing their leaves, real sun warming them, wind billowing through their twiggy growth.  I managed to get badly scratched on my forehead by one of the trees, so that I now have a kind of crochet-hook etched almost from my hairline to the corner of my eyebrow.