this morning, as most mornings, the Goats are off into the forest almost before dawn. Halfway through my second tea, they have circled around and for whatever reason of their own come at a run down over the far hill, spilling over to their Commons with the Bucks, their old Forest. They come really fast, running, sometimes leaping…it's wonder FULL to see and if you count to 12, maybe 13, there comes a red chicken, running, to catch up with her herd. The Sun breaks through over the rise, illuminating the Redness of her feathers, her chicken ness hurrying, so hard, behind her Goats.
you might remember, or not, that this Hill was bought with the money that the Old Cowboy left behind. That he left me as kind of a payment for helping him stay in his home to die. I listened to the podcast and thought about apologies, about reparations. I thought about how i guess this Hill is mine, to my daughter.
she arrived mid morning and we did some things…re~tarped the Doe Goat shelter….that kind of thing…and talked. About her son, my grandson, Alyssia's brother, who i don't write much about here….Fate's father, and i thought about not writing much about him here. About how he is Magnificant now, after none of us knew, including him, how it might go.
and then we walked the whole of the Hill. Up to where the huge Pine had loosened its Self from the Earth and Fallen and the Goats had gone ahead. She and i and Tay and Puppy came along, and there….far from campsite C, amidst the browsing Goats, in the brush…that red chicken. We stood and watched her, quiet and softly, thinking our own thoughts and saying some that were shared, but we looked upon what has happened here, quite of its own accord, really. We follow cues. But quite of its own accord and i think, maybe this is my great real apology. And i think it is received.
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windthread 
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