While the breeze
was still coolish
(in the shade)
this morning;
while clouds veiled the sunshine
for a little while,
I savored a few moments
on the front porch.
Old friends appeared.
Hummingbird
came for breakfast.
I saw a flash
of Bluejay wings.
Wasps
were already drinking
from the fish pond.
The alpaca
each took a turn
standing over
the water sprinkler
I had turned on in their pasture.
The guinea fowl
and chickens
hung around
the wet grass too.
Box turtle
has evidently abandoned
its early-morning walk
through the flower beds
because it was also in the alpaca pen
near the water sprinkler.
Yesterday was our third day
with 109-degree air temperature.
It looks to me
like green tomatoes
are cooking on the vine
rather than ripening.
Squashes and cucumbers
are still coming on,
and cantaloupe.
Sunflowers
seem to love the heat;
they are taller
than usual.
By mid-morning,
when I went down
to turn off the water spray,
Biak Bay and the goats
were sitting in the shade and breeze
on the south side of the barn.
They seem simply to adapt
to the situation
of the moment.
Perhaps I can take a lesson
from them—
and do my job
of noticing
what’s happening in the moment,
that the planet is heating up.
Noticing,
without being scared to death
about it;
without becoming paralyzed by it.
Perhaps,
like the animals,
innately trusting that Goodness
is taking us in the best possible direction;
and,
responding to this particular moment—
this particular hot moment:
give the animals water and food,
enjoy their presence,
keep cool
with as little fossil fuel as possible:
time to shut the blinds on the sunny windows,
keep the thermostat at 84,
turn on the ceiling and floor fans;
be grateful for the solar panels
on the roof.
Appreciate how fast the hot air
dries thin slices
of tomatoes and zucchini
hanging in the dehydrator on the porch;
appreciate the chance to share
lusciousness, fresh, acid-and-sweet
tomatoes,
crispy cucumbers
and those cool, sweet cantaloupe
with dear old friends who came by
unexpectedly
for lunch.
