A Sunday morning haiku:
It was amazing,
The complex, rich, loam-y “dirt”
I scooped in brisk air.
I’m pretty certain the neighbors’ adolescent hens include a rogue rooster. Every morning when he gets going, I think to myself, “That ain’t no egg-layin’ chicken!” And on that note, Chris has decided if we ever get a rooster, we will name him Cock Cousteau.
One other haiku-related thought: I realized the other day that I use the word “amazing” a lot, and I began to think of it as a problem, scanning my mental thesaurus for other options. This morning, though, as I trucked that complex, rich, loam-y dirt/poop/straw from the chicken run to the compost, I decided if I use the word “amazing” too often to describe my life, this is, in fact, a very good thing. Maybe the best thing. “She lived, and it was amazing.”