At dawn, a cow trailer rumbles by on the county road, and rain scents the cool breeze.
Eggs and bacon and coffee on the table, mostly consumed, now ignored.
Johnny Cash, my peacock, screams at the sound of the cattle guys going about their tasks. The peahens (Cinderella and Snow White) answer back.
The Youngers (the three stooges of the peafowl flock) yowl at each other while John Wayne–the one that imprinted on people and my oldest taught to fly from arm to arm as chick–hangs out on the front porch.
The gobbler gobbles, strutting across the driveway, tossing his insults and turkey trash talk across the garden alley.
The rooster crows, and the chicken hens let the world know that they’re about to give their gift for the day. The guineas kick up a fuss because they can’t go five minutes without adding their two addled cents to the world.
The livestock guardian dogs bark warnings at a pair of coyotes that lope across the cow fields next door, and the puppies watch with interest. Some of them mimic and mime their parents, but they’re all young still-yet and mostly playful with teeth.
A hawk flies over, and the turkey hens pop warnings at each other while the goose squawks for the chicken pullets and ducks to take cover. Ducklings peep in the poultry house just beyond our back door.
Goats and sheep bleat and baa to one another over fences, discussing the morning rations and their favorite greens on the fresh lawn salad bar. They herd around our middle child, asking for scratches and extra bits of feed.
The oldest child, the one on the cusp of adulthood, stands at the open window, shaking his head.
He has the patience of a farmer with a steadfast and tender heart to match.
“It’s pretty amazing out here,” he says, “when they’re all talking to each other and happy, doing their part of their life out here. It’s something else.”
And then he’s quiet for a long time, listening to the earth breathe as I sip my coffee and the others go about choring.
On his own. Alone.
A season bears down on us, a thunderstorm, building on the horizon. It happens, invited or not. Time doesn’t wait on mamas to be ready.
He knows what comes next, and I do, too. He’s two-parts in a hurry and one-part not ready.
And I can tell he already misses us.
My breath catches, and I have to blink away the tears so he won’t see them.
He won’t be here… this way… for much longer.
It’s good and right and the way these things are supposed to go.
Yet it makes my heart ache that he’s half-way gone in his mind, planning his brave tomorrow before today is barely started…
Even while he’s standing here in front of me.
{Bokerah} 