I Dream of Dirt.....

I want to stuff seeds into the dirt. I want to see beans  flourish. Flowers tumble. I want to stuff seeds into dirt, till I can stuff no more. I want to plant my greenhouse with things that grow.

 I want to weed the dirt. Then plant the seeds, that turn into beans, that turn into flowers. First  I must  cut up liners for wire baskets.And dream of the seeds that will turn into beans.......I just want to stuff seeds into dirt.

 It's a little too cold for Cordelia, who hides behind the fence on the hill. She sniffs the chilly wind.

But not too cold for fog  on the ocean.

I want to stuff seeds into  dirt, that will grow.....

 Instead I join Spencer outside on a cool, sunny day. He always finds sun. He's not interested in seeds.

 Smokey's paws twitch in the  sun. He dreams of flying with the birds. I dream of dirt.

 And the mountain is foggy and misty and runny with snow. I miss the dirt. And the worms that wibble and wobble.

  Spencer dreams of being king . I still dream of stuffing things into pots of dirt.

  All I can do is  be patient. I'm not good at that.

 My  baskets are done. Hung  in the greenhouse.  I can sense the dirt underfoot. This time of year it smells wonderful. Crisp. Fresh. Wormy . Loamy. Bugs are starting to squoosh out of holes.

 Dale's old truck, broken and heat scorched , lies in the mud and rain.

 Gets me motivated to repurpose and reuse and renew. Time to redecorate. The toilet gets a makeover. ( Don't worry, that's just mud.......I think.)

 Spencer wakes from his nap. Peers into the greenhouse. He likes the greenhouse.

 He sees the toilet. Stuffed with a pot of dirt. Finally. I get to play in the dirt.

 Cordelia emerges, at last, from the fence. Sits on her Moai , once again, like she does when the season changes.

 And the mountain rumbles and grumbles overhead.

 Lion Mane  appears, after five months absence. Bigger and poofier than ever.She's more interested in watching the chickens next door peck in the dirt. Ahhhhhh, dirt.

 The sky  clouds over. The light recedes.

 The rocks in the ocean thrash  and rattle as the tides pull in.

 And the sun goes down again. Spencer drapes himself hopefully over the bench. He waves his paws elegantly. He is cute. And he knows it.     I dream of dirt.........

 "I hope a couple of birds will nest around the house. I'll do my best to make them happy, so every years they'll raise their brood of fledglings here...While I follow the sun, while I drift and roam to the ends of the earth like a chip on the stream. " ( Don Blanding 1894-1957 "Vagabond's House")