My energy levels seemed a bit manic so rather than reach for my phone first thing in the morning I tried sitting in the dark with no music, just the clocks, and Timmy. Timmy still tries to suckle in moments like this though. I didn’t really need to re-check the weather forecast or what I’d missed on my phone, but then soon there I was again.

The broadleaf maple leaves are so big in our backyard you can stand underneath the tree when it’s raining and not get wet. All the birds are freaking out when the rain sets in like they’re signaling it’s game on for the worms, feeding time. This is all the therapy I need to calm my mind. The layered sounds and smells is a balm for my brain, my senses. Through the evolution of our visual cortex we can now perceive many more colors than we could thousands of years ago. And they are all on display this time of year. Dawn says it’s like a slow motion firework display the way the shrubs and flowers all start to bloom. It’s remarkable the way you can deadhead blooms and the flowers will generate more. Makes me think we could do the same, lose dead parts of ourselves so we can bloom too.

I confess to really enjoying having the house to myself when Dawn and Charlotte are away. I can scream in the shower and walk around the house without my shirt on and I don’t feel the need to protect and provide. Not like we’re in the wild or anything but home making is like shepherding, the same reason Ginger’s always nervous. That or the inverted vulva, says the vet.

In the morning I go out and spray the hostas with coyote urine. There are more bunnies this year than most, standing on their haunches, chewing. There’s either more coyotes or more bunnies; it’s like some annual inventory adjustment. Our last cat was hard on the bunny population, especially the babies, and I got desensitized to removing the bodies from our house and tossing them in the compost. I’d put them out for the crows but then the dog would get to it or the kids might see. And it was grim; the cat always took the heads. Now they are emboldened to come near the house and it seems they are always chewing. On a rare coyote sighting the crows always gather in a tall tree and caw down at it like a car alarm.

At about half past four in the morning the sky goes turquoise like the color of an abalone shell, some yellow, pink and green mixed in. It is the best time of the day when I get in my car and turn on the heat, the radio, and drive to the park. This is a form of deadheading too.

Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Memoir

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, journal writing, pacific northwest