Lately it’s been snowing, raining, hailing and storming out and I’ve been worried about the chickens. But unfortunately I am a lazy bum, so dragging my ass out of bed in the morning to throw on a coat and check on them in the rain, snow, sleet, seems about as appealing as, hmmm, running 3 miles in the same. Lazy January!
But no matter what, when I’m finally flailing around with frozen fingers, a tarp, and clothespins to keep the rain off their food or defrosting and scraping mud out of their water, I always find myself smiling. And in the rain, or the snow, I stand and I smile and I watch them, and I watch the weather, and I breathe the fresh air and look at the green trees. I calm down. I marvel at the wildness I can find even in a city, even in my postage-stamp yard. My eyes rest on the complexity of snowflakes, or tree branches, of stormy clouds, and they soften.
Nature: it’s a pain in the ass, but it grounds you in ways you don’t even realize.
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