Today my waking thought was of the shooting stars I saw last night. Years ago, long before we lived on our little parcel of paradise, someone built a lean-to between the barn and granary. The low, smooth metal roof has a gradual pitch, making an ideal perch for star gazing. I huddled in my blanket and watched the stars imperceptibly spin around some hidden axis.
Today a murder of crows holds high council in the white pines towering over our rooftop. I’m not privy to their conversation, but it sounds urgent. Perhaps they discuss a threat to the rookery or try to settle a dispute. Whatever the issue, their feathers are certainly getting ruffled. Their raucous caws ring through the neighborhood.
Today I nearly hit a deer. It bolts out of the ditch right in front of me. As soon as its hooves hit the road, it starts skidding, unable to get any traction on the slick pavement. I swerve slightly and just miss its hind quarters.