HAY

     Gorgeous sight, grass cut, lying on the earth, drying in the sun.  To me, looks like milk in the winter time.  Looks like baby cows growing inside their mothers.  

    Sweep out the top of the Red Barn.  Dry straw covers the floor, falling generously down the ladder hole to ground level.  Looks like bedding.  Looks like a cozy chicken coop all summer, into winter.  

Abundance - everywhere 

Child swinging from a rope in the top of the Red Barn.  Laughing, flying, making things fun.  Kept me up there happily, focused much longer than expected.  Sweep, clear, open, organize, decide, imagine, listen for inspiration.  Imagine this place clean and holding hay, keep the hay dry, feed the animals, harvest the milk, feed the human family that lives here sharing space with all the creatures and the Red Barn.  Go to receive a space for hay and find bedding for a whole year.  Abundance.

Go to claim a new way to make hay and receive hours of fun with the child.  Giggle and shout joyous noise as straw is pushed over the edge, piling up at the foot of the ladder.  Push straw like a dog digging a hole, arms moving fast through legs as floor is cleared again and again.  Create game of swinging to safety from the broom giant who sweeps the floor, chomping straw under the rope.  Laugh and swing, sweep and roar, clear the floor, together.  Good time spent, memories made, enjoying the journey of freedom.  

    Neighbor friend mentioned that other neighbor wondered out loud if I was sleeping with my housemate anymore.  In neighbor's culture, man and woman live together and woman doesn't have a choice.  Visiting with neighbors later that day, I mentioned to woman neighbor that I have been a single woman for over 3 years.  Yes there is a child in our house but he is 6 1/2 years old and I have since, consciously chosen my own self respect, my own dignity, my own power as a single woman.  There has been no physical desire or contact for a long enough time that even he might understand how single I am.  

    Explained to neighbor that he is my housemate, my farm partner, the father of the child, someone I share space with.  My name is on the deed, I own 120 acres.  

I am home.

     I am your neighbor.  and your friend.  This is my life I share with you.   She asked me, "what was he doing on the tractor early morning, lights on, unusual?".   

Clarity felt good in response to an honest neighbor question,  "I don't know.

We rarely speak."

Kind neighbor gently nodded her understanding.  We've lived on this road with him for over 20 years.  We understand.  

I am not alone.