there is an owl who sings me lullabies
Last night, just before the sun set, I went out to work on my support beams-- the old telephone pole that I cut up into six and a half foot chunks. They are lying just off a trail, about half a mile from my camp. Some lovely low-gage copper wire was holding them all together and I brought a nail-puller to pull out the tacks. I was bent over, worrying one of the stubborn tacks and there was a crash -- a large doe leapt through the prairie grass. I laughed aloud to see her, she was so beautiful. She sailed over the farmer's fence and, hearing my laugh, stopped and looked back. "Hello, Beautiful!" I called to her. She stopped and looked at me --leaned forward and gave me a Do I know you? look, twitched her ears, and was gone.
After I finished with the telephone pole chunks (I just have to get them to camp, now) I went back to the campus to get a bottle of water from my car and I got my phone from the outside outlet at the gym building where I was charging it -- and then walked out to my camp. From the campus to my camp, I walk east. Jupiter was coming up, shining all alone in the purplish new-night. I startled a pheasant, which startled some nesting ducks. Ducks look funny when they take off, so fat and stubby. I laughed at them, too, but they didn't look back.
It takes about fifteen minutes to get from the campus to my tent.
I love my tent. When I see it, my heart wells up with love. Little tent. Fantastic, delightful, sweet, dear, little tent. Your zipper door is going but I still love you.
I fought with the zipper a bit and gave it up for a bad job. Then I set my alarm for 4am (really, this was a mistake; I meant to set it for 5am) and snuggled down under my blankets. There are so many that they are heavy and that is wonderful too. Heavy warmth. Mmmmm.
An owl began to call, very soft and gentle. I've been hearing her for months. Ha-hoo, hoo. Ha-haaa, ha-hooooo -- almost a coo. I listened to her and thought about my coming day that was today. I really needed to wash up. I had washed my face and hands, but I needed to wash my everything. And my hair.
Oh, my hair. I wear it in a ponytail. It is is very coarse hair, so it doesn't show grease like fine hair does. But last night, the night before Hair Washing Day, it was very greasy and just a little bit itchy. When I'm working on the cabin, I get sweaty and the clay dust settles on my hair with the grease and the sweat so that it really is just awful. I wash it once a week and other wise just brush it flat and ponytail it. Like a sailor's queue.
The clay gets in it -- I mean that it feels like the clay has become one with my hair. The clay and the prairie grass and the stars at night are all in my hair and I can smell them. It doesn't smell bad to me, but it doesn't smell like nice, normal shampooed hair. I have never been very normal, but now I really don't feel normal.
It doesn't matter because I don't have a lover to run his fingers through my hair or wonder what we'll have for supper or complain that the zipper door to the tent is stripped. I have no lover here. Except the doe and the owl and Jupiter, and they don't care about my hair.
After I finished with the telephone pole chunks (I just have to get them to camp, now) I went back to the campus to get a bottle of water from my car and I got my phone from the outside outlet at the gym building where I was charging it -- and then walked out to my camp. From the campus to my camp, I walk east. Jupiter was coming up, shining all alone in the purplish new-night. I startled a pheasant, which startled some nesting ducks. Ducks look funny when they take off, so fat and stubby. I laughed at them, too, but they didn't look back.
It takes about fifteen minutes to get from the campus to my tent.
I love my tent. When I see it, my heart wells up with love. Little tent. Fantastic, delightful, sweet, dear, little tent. Your zipper door is going but I still love you.
I fought with the zipper a bit and gave it up for a bad job. Then I set my alarm for 4am (really, this was a mistake; I meant to set it for 5am) and snuggled down under my blankets. There are so many that they are heavy and that is wonderful too. Heavy warmth. Mmmmm.
An owl began to call, very soft and gentle. I've been hearing her for months. Ha-hoo, hoo. Ha-haaa, ha-hooooo -- almost a coo. I listened to her and thought about my coming day that was today. I really needed to wash up. I had washed my face and hands, but I needed to wash my everything. And my hair.
Oh, my hair. I wear it in a ponytail. It is is very coarse hair, so it doesn't show grease like fine hair does. But last night, the night before Hair Washing Day, it was very greasy and just a little bit itchy. When I'm working on the cabin, I get sweaty and the clay dust settles on my hair with the grease and the sweat so that it really is just awful. I wash it once a week and other wise just brush it flat and ponytail it. Like a sailor's queue.
The clay gets in it -- I mean that it feels like the clay has become one with my hair. The clay and the prairie grass and the stars at night are all in my hair and I can smell them. It doesn't smell bad to me, but it doesn't smell like nice, normal shampooed hair. I have never been very normal, but now I really don't feel normal.
It doesn't matter because I don't have a lover to run his fingers through my hair or wonder what we'll have for supper or complain that the zipper door to the tent is stripped. I have no lover here. Except the doe and the owl and Jupiter, and they don't care about my hair.