Unending Stars

Moving to the homestead has been an organic reawakening.

I didn't know how important it would be to start with the sunrise low over the fields in crimson and orange and magenta splashes that are farther out than the ends of the earth, and watch it merge into the day.

The owls in the trees out front chat all night long in low mournful hoots. Sam sits on the edge of the bed facing the window, leaning so far forward she nearly falls. There is life out there, the ground squirrels and bats and rodents, and she watches for them.

The Ugg knockoffs are speckled with mud from walks in the field.  Bunnies and ground squirrels scurry away as we stomp through the tall grass, knowing the pits and valleys already, staking out where the garden and fruit trees and deciding how to fence them from the critters.

An Egret came yesterday, and two hawks sat in the trees hunting a meal. Last night there was the call of a coyote far off in the distance that was answered by another closer to home.

I didn't realize how it would change my life being part of wild space, even wild space tempered by a small farming community. Life really is different far from town with no sidewalks or street lights or traffic. Out here you hear the thud of your footsteps as you walk and look up to the heavens at stars as far as the eye can see.