Precious
When we first moved to our home, there were two donkeys nearby. One directly up the road at the business that sells plants and mulch; the other round the bend in a corner lot on the way into town. I pulled over for both donkeys at different times bringing them apples which they seemed to enjoy. The one up the road is named Precious, according to the owner of the business. He told me all about her last year when I bought mulch. She is the pet of his daughter, who was then eleven years old. After that conversation, I always knew to call Precious by name when I passed her in the car. For the past eight or ten months though, Precious has not been in the pasture. I worried about her.
On Friday night, after the sun had set, when the dogs were really just taking a final amble about the property, they started barking frantically. It was the delivery from up the road of two pallets of mulch. That is one hundred bags of mulch for the trees and flower beds. They came in and unloaded. As the finished up, I asked about Precious. Turns out, she has just been moved from the pasture at the business to the pasture at their home over in Plant City. She is doing well. No more babies for her, just love from her owner and attention from everyone in the household. Because as the fellow told me, those donkeys are always so curious, they are up in whatever you are doing, nuzzling up against you, pulling at your clothes with their teeth to get a better view of what is going on, looking for just a bit more food.
I am so happy for Precious, that she is happy and living in a pasture nearby. He told me how to get there if I want to drive by with an apple, but I can focus my attention on the one around the bend, who is also I think an older girl and obvious very loved. She lives with four or five goats and tends to them as her pack. Though she never shares her apple; she keeps that for herself.
Yesterday, as the sun was setting for the longest night of the year, I met with the board of Sinister Wisdom, which is always energizing. Today, though, I have been entranced by rain. It has rained or misted or stormed all day long. I sat on the glider on the balcony outside the bedroom and read a book and snoozed. It was delicious. I sat underneath a blanket because there was a cool breeze, and I wore my uggs. It is wonderful to do nothing, to be responsible for nothing, to simply be.
I imagine that today is like what most of the days are like for Precious. She wakes up, noses about, naps, and enjoys what the day has to offer.
It would be easy to write, I want more days like that: simple and uncomplicated. Days without goals and desired outcomes; days that do not gaze to some future achievement or milestone; days that are languorous; days punctuated not by meetings or appointments but by naps. It sounds appealing certainly, especially as we all collectively roll into the end of one year, one decade, and all seem to slow down to look around and assess. Yes, it is easy to write, I want more days like this.
I want days like this for Tibe, Samantha, and Sadie. Sadie in particular is letting go of some of her anxieties, sleeping more soundly, less on alert about what might happen to her, less interested in hunting for her own food, more trusting in the two meals a day we provide her. She still has her hound dog moments barking, but now even Tibe often just raises his head ass though to say, chill Sadie, everything is fine. Then does not join in the barking just lies back down. I want more days like this for the pack.
And yes, it is easy to write, I want more days like this and intimate for myself. It is also not entirely true. The book I am reading, it is nudging me along about an essay I am going to write over the next few weeks. I was not expecting it to prompt this essay, but it is. I’m reading and napping but dreaming about this essay and what it might be. I am making lists, imagining new things that I might do.
On one hand, I want the life of Precious nosing about the pasture and happy with each day. On the other hand, I want the master plan, the goals and objectives, the reflections back on a year on a decade, the bodacious goals of what might be accomplished in twelve months, in one hundred and twenty months. I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know about happiness. How satisfied and happy Precious must be in her one wild life. How I want to create that for Tibe and Sadie and Samantha (how it seems less achievable for Vita the cat). How the magic of a summer day, or a rainy day, invites us to contemplate how we might use the one wild and precious life.
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