More chicken news. //
Grace got up to stretch her legs, today, and I counted nine eggs.
I bring Frankie fresh water. He drinks it. I talk to him. He makes soft noises at me. I think we’re becoming friends.
Maybe. Older siblings are like the first trees, they grow tall and big, and younger siblings are like the next trees, they have to spread out, twist around, or find other ways to get light. It’s hard to be either one of these things.
Noticing the swastikas on neighbors' front gates. Here, it’s a symbol of balance. In the West, (its reverse is) a symbol of evil. Again here, a symbol of the instability of symbol.
(Evil remains evil, and, context is everything.)
Moments around which everything changes, or breaks, and I carried her with me, after that. (Writing about Bocara, the pony.)
Admire the optimism here.
I feel changes in my toes, (big toes mostly), the soles of my feet, my knees (twisty jelly), my shoulderblades, my triceps and elbows (little pops), my wrists, the pinky mound of my palms (crampy), my neck (cracking up and down spine), and even in my jaw (unpleasant tension). As the psoas (un)twist, the entire body follows. A crazy tour of the deep front line (myofascial meridian).
Cozy outfit: Soft grey sweater dress over brown-grey tank top, white pajama shorts, light grey ankle socks, charcoal grey buff worn like a beanie, old blue-grey tie-died shawl. Orange chocolate sachertorte and oat milk. Love fake winter.
Salam and goodnight to all.