a glade. a small clearing. There are two of these, to the East and a little UP from Campsite B where one of these days i will live. They appear to be spontaneous. No sign of having been "man made". Just small clearings, Sun filled and surrounded by the brush and 200ft trees. When i can, i go to sit there. I go to lie flat into those grasses, on my stomach, face pressed straight into the earth, on my back, arms extended.
There has been rain this week, good "winter" rain for this part of the planet, seasonal rain. Sometimes coming as a downpour and the tarps for the Goat shelters watched closely. Sometimes just a gentle rain. But rain. Just so close West of here the Sierra Nevadas get snow. That will become run off for that seasonal stream. All of the Live Oak are leafing.
The fence around these 6 acres is complete. Even parts where it was hoped there would be no fence. The big gate is in place. One part 12 ft and one part 6 ft or something like that, i'm not sure, actually, it's not that, but you can get the drift. A big side and a smaller side. The fencing is IN on the side that runs to the canal/creek, the hardest part in a way because of the slope. We think now, that nothing can come in and nothing can go out. Even if all the Goats were to suddenly free themselves, which they wouldn't want to, but if they did, they would be safe. 6 acres. Six acres of some earth and a lot of granite. The ecosystem is almost beyond imagining.
While Alyssia works, Emrie and i find ways to be without her. I don't do any more than she needs, but encourage her independence and she works at that independence, understanding that it's what there IS. That her mother will return, but that her mother is not here right now and she needs to make do. I am witnessing this with some detachment which is really quite grand, watching her, with her 6 month brain making order of things. A new human being. Watching how really delicate her beingness is, but also how resiliant and capable. I feel like a scientist. When Alyssia does return, it's with the sound of crunching gravel under foot and Emrie, like an animal, with ears pricked, turns her head….
Alyssia enters and offers the breast. All is well. Later, Emrie, sitting in her booster seat next to her mother, pulls her arm close, burys her face in her sweatshirt and breathes, deep huffing sounds, breathes her mother's scent in. Again, not a scientist, but an anthropologist. I am an anthropologist. of my own species.
I am drawing. I finally was able to draw an OLD face…it came out of nowhere. I'll try to take a pic. Once again, to repeat, i can't upload pics myself. I show Alyssia a pic from the phone camera and she somehow gets it into her phone and then somehow takes it to typepad and enters it. I then add text. This one today, like once before, was sideways a long time till she was able to get it upright.
windthread 
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