Ester's Feathers

Three day weekend: Friday spent mostly on an idiot's errand, looking for an outdoor umbrella. The guy at Home Depot snorted derisively: That's seasonal. Yeah, you mean, like for summer, which we're still in, Sunshine? Then I got stuck in a big traffic jam, so the day was mostly shot. Then the next two days were spent hacking and digging and sawing and schlepping and sweating. I have four Italian plum trees which probably haven't been pruned in 20 years. As I ducked underneath a low hanging bough for the umpteenthmillion time, I finally just sawed the thing off and there's something about sawing (The Big Snit): once you start, the next thing you know you've got firewood for that fireplace you don't have. The chickens were a great help with the gardening. Not. I'm concocting a plan to fence off the bulk of the garden, while still giving them ample range to roam and so we can all still hang together. Since I can barely hammer a nail into a wall, I'm going to have to rely on some friends that are more handy than I am.This is our routine now: as the sun sets lower in the sky, Butters comes up and roosts on the arm of my chair. I think she would prefer to just settle in for the evening with me, rather than the two other girls who still give her grief, although that diminishes incrementally every day. Chickens make a sound when they are gathering for the evening: a contented trill that absolutely makes me melt whenever I hear it. A joyous sound that says to me, we made it through another day and now here we are in this safe place, together. Good night.