The sun is a little softer these days. Gentler. No biting and screaming and punching.
‘He’s gone soft,’ I smile to myself.
So it’s September now, and I don’t mind all that much. The plums have been consumed and the peaches long disappeared into cups of yogurt and almonds and cinnamon and fresh mint. Tomatoes and tomatillos and leeks still hang around for an egg scramble. Strawberries and blackberries for a side. Freshly plucked from our yard.
The Fruits of Our Labor.
The shorter days embolden the coyotes and they are coming too close. Three days this week I’ve been startled by them. But our fence is good and our animals are safe and I am grateful. Yesterday when the black clouds stopped dumping their load and tried to move on, the coyote family cried and yipped and howled. They wanted more, I guess.
I guess I wanted more too.
I dream of rattlesnakes and yellow-bellied-racers and coachwhips and kingsnakes and ring-necks coming out of logs when I sit down and out of holes where I step and falling from trees onto my neck. I dream of becoming a chocolatier, selling hand-made-with-love chocolate marijuana bon-bons. I dream of being a bohemian. A hippie. I dream of roaming around the world in my homemade gypsy trailer, complete with a horse and flowing dresses and beautiful scarfs, making money reading palms and summoning spirits with my Ouija board.
I dream I ditch the idea of building a raft and floating it down the Mississippi. Too many locks. Then I wake up and think that’s actually probably a pretty good thought, so I turn my attention to the Missouri River instead. And back to the building of a different style of raft.
And then it’s morning and the dogs have to pee and so do I and besides I really want some coffee.
And my dreams get all mixed up with reality and I can’t seem to separate the two.
And that’s okay.
So I sit outside with my coffee in the soft September morning sun and stir the night dreams in with the day dreams.
I need nothing. I want for nothing.
I Am Whole. I Am Free.