brown thrasher

I awoke last night to the sound of a dog thrashing on the floor. I jumped up and hit the light. Kabira was on the floor with her legs splayed and unable to get up. Call Carm with urgency in my voice. I stayed with her to  keep her calm while Carm ran to the bathroom to get some mats for her feet. In a few minutes she tried to get up again and this time made it. Whew.

In those scant minutes a million scenarios went through my head and none of them were good. Did she have a stroke? She wobbled around for a few steps and then we got her down the hall and outside. She was fine. Her legs must have gone to sleep.

It was a night of interupted sleep. Later I woke up to the welcome sound of light rain on the trees outside the window. Finally! A break from the drought. I hope there was enough for the crops. Is there a sweeter sound than the patter of rain on the roof of a tent (assuming you are dry of course). I wonder if I could find a recording for those nights when sleep is elusive.

The dogs always sleep in a bit when it is raining... another reason to have a recording of raindrops ;-)

By the time the dogs and I had our walk this morning it had stopped raining, but the humidity in the air was palpable. It was just one smidgion of water away from still raining. I rejoiced in my wet shoes, although I was wearing my crocs (oh so fashionable), and do you know how slippery they are when wet? My feet were sliding inside the shoes as I made my way around the field.

The humid air caressed my limbs making them lethargic, languid and limp. The siren call of the pool urged me into it's crisp, cool, calmative waters - a balm to the heat. The contrast leaves me with a peaceful easy feeling, content with life. I feel lucky to be alive.

I watched part of a movie last night where a guy tries to kill himself... at one point he says 'I didn't want to die, I just don't want to live anymore.' I was struck by how true the words were. There have been points in my life where not living seemed the only answer, and death seemed to be the only escape. Perhaps that is why depressed people sleep so much - it is like a small death that is less permanent. At those moments I never knew that the feeling would pass and life would seem bearable again, or if I knew I didn't recognize it. Depression is a cruel deciver. Now, I know that those dark moments are temporary, and that the force to live will soon return. I just hope I remember if I am ever at that precipice again.

This is the hot/spicy anti-pasto that I've mentioned in the last few blog posts. I can't get enough of it and the oil makes a great dressing for roasted potatoes.

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.” 
~Sylvia Plath