Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Chinese Rain

Chinese Restaurant In The Rain, photo by EBR
The cats who I locked out of the house are lined up on the back steps like DC10's on a runway. 

I plunk pass them in BC's big farm boots through the mudroom and into the yard. The ski-jacket I threw over the t-shirt I slept in is overly dramatic; the morning chill shattered hours ago by the sunlight bouncing around the dredges of last's night's rain storm.

Yes, last night in the dark the rain like a bully had chasing us across the gymnasium parking lot, down Highland Drive, and onto the freeway.  Where the lights and the water smeared together in an unreadable mess. 

Beach sitting in the seat beside me exhausted. Looking up from under the edges of the black coat that I lent her she shifted the brown paper bag containing our pending dinner of Chinese soup and Lo Mein Chicken.  

She squared her fingers to frame the 72 mph nonsense passing by. 

"It's like a movie," she said. Explaining how a bad day at the gym, the chill of the rainstorm, the feeling of us coming home alone, and the smell of the food makes for a perfect night. 

She wasn't wrong. Nights on the farm as it falls into winter are soft.  But here in the morning, the world is shouting. 

Beach lays pale, still sleeping in the middle of my bed. Drown in a sea of blankets.  But I've been up for hours. Padding quietly around the house balancing dark coffee and an even darker book.  Waiting until the last possible second to venture out to the feed the now sulking chickens. 

At the edge of the garden drawing water from the pump, I squint at the light coming through the damp air. 5 chickens greedily trailing me as I march over uneven ground to the coop. The water bucket threatening to spill with each clumsy step I take.  

In the coop, even the chickens seem bewildered by the brightness of the day. They wade precariously under my feet as I try to do my chores, refilling water, spreading to the grain, and breaking up loafs of stale wheat bread for them to scratch at.  

I can't help but glance at the empty backfield. Mist rises from the naked ground. 

The new emptiness around here is big. Like a sinkhole that broke loose in the night and is now quiet and resting.    

The funny thing is, BC and I have the same sized feet but it seems right now that his boots are just way too big for me to fill.

 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.