So I was digging a trench in the mud in the rain in the barn in my nightgown and raincoat.
Like you were just now.
And can I say the big horses milling around me in the only dry spot this side of Tennessee were not my friends in fact I was thinking you know if you tasted good I would eat you and then I wouldn't be raking mud at 7 am so your barn stays nice and river diverted. I care, that's why I'm out here. Cursing them.
Love looks alot messier than in the brochure. I wrote to my older brother how I was irritated mucking swamp barn to make it nice and he said I know how you like to take care of your animals.
I was like. oh. So being mad kind of got diffused, like my brother took the rake and applied it to my brain and unstopped the huge mud blockage of my mad mind and let the anger dribble out over there to drift away onto the wet grass. We don't need to focus on the wrong thing, silly. You love those big oafs. Who just stand there not lifting a fricking HOOF to help with the raking. In fact just enjoying their hay and watching the rain jester like decorated kings at a banquet.
The trenches are dug. The water is flowing. The horses are dryish. My computer is dusty from never picking it up to write instead picking up needlepoint to color in stuff.
I hope today you find a firmly packed mud block in your mind and poke it til you let the rain run out of it. I learned from unswamping the barn that trapped rain wants to be free. If you unblock it, it merrily rushes to see what's up ahead. Water wants to be free, and sometimes needs your help.
(ps I'm naming this winter Carl Weathers) (since no one else is using it)
