When I arose this past morning, the sun had no intention of peeking through the heavy cloud cover which had lingered from the previous night.
The sky appeared to possess that blue indigo mood that told me it was going to continue spontaneous heavy showers, which I’d heard on the rooftop all during the night.
When I glanced out the window at our flag, which I usually do to judge the speed and direction of the wind, it appeared as not being there. It had wrapped tightly around the pole and had apparently frozen there.
At least the red and white accomplishment, worth bragging about by John Diefenbaker, whose birthplace I now live not far from, was not being shredded to bits by the ruthless direction-changing winds.
Unfurled and flipping in a gentle breeze on a sunshiny day, the flag leaves me amply content that I was born, had the privilege of living, as I still do, in this country that we proudly call Canada.
As my sleepy eyes watched out through the rain-splattered window, two male robins were duking it out, on the greening-up lawn, wing whacking each other again and again. They were apparently claiming the same territory or fighting over the same mate.
Further afield, a female robin was making trip after trip with her mouth chucked full of straw. She was apparently starting to build her mud-lined, cup-shaped nest on a well-hidden shelf within the shed provided for the goats in the paddock.
Moments later, she and her mate were diving again and again at the head of a crow that had dropped down to flip big globs of pig dung, searching for worms that were hiding beneath. They eventually drove it away, but the robins delayed going back to building the nest. They knew well that the crow would be back to gobble their young or eggs at a later date, if he found out just where their nest was situated.
Further beyond, as the rain returned, half a dozen Canada geese dropped silently in to nibble the fresh shoots of green grass in the hayfield. Their predominately grey colour blended well, camouflaging their presence, as they gabbled while gobbling their lunch. One lone gander stood stalwart, straight, still, turning his head only slightly, left to right, obviously guarding the flock as they fed.
Hearing my son grumbling loudly about the weather prediction for the next few days, in words appropriate, but those I know my editor won’t sanction, I think I’m going to do as Foxy, our smarter-than-I house dog, has done. I can hear her quietly barking, downstairs in her basket, as she chases groundhogs while dreaming, sound asleep.
In the meantime, that indigo blue mood has inundated my thinking, so I think I’ll nullify it completely by copying Foxy and going back to my bed until lunch time.
Take care, ’cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105