A few years ago Chris gave me a Kindle Paperwhite for Christmas. It is an "E Reader," small and light, with a crystal clear screen that can even be viewed in bright light, say, on a sunny beach or in my back yard at the weathered picnic table. He carefully chose a colorful, protective cover for it, with a beautiful tree and a magnetic front so that when I open it the device automatically turns on. I can search from thousands of books, choose one, and press on it. Like magic the fee for the book is zapped from my bank account, and at the same time the book appears in my Kindle.I can instantly begin reading my purchase. It never ceases to amaze me.
The sun rises early in Maine in the spring and summer, the sky brightening a little after 4 AM and Sol himself peering through the pine and hardwood trees at 5. This wakes me, long before I need to get up. I watch the glass turn from black to gray, the edges of my starched ball fringe curtains gradually become visible, their outline sharper and sharper with the passing moments. The bed is soft, and one or two dogs are pressed against me. Warmth radiates off Chris, and I am too comfortable to get up, but too awake to go back to sleep. So I lift the e book from the bedside table and am instantly awash in words. I am finding that if I allow myself some time to read before I get up, the whole day is better. Especially if I am reading something where the author has a good grasp of language, because the way they write shapes the way my brain forms thoughts for hours to come. By 5:30 Bravo is restless and Abraham donkey is singing the song of his people, willing me to come out and start morning chores.
With the rhythm and cadence of good writing echoing in my head, I begin. Dogs out, feet crammed into boots. Cats fed, water hoses on. Ducks and chickens released from their safe coops, water bowls and duck pool filled with clear, clean water. Feed pans topped off. In the garage I find bowls for donkeys and goats, hefty grain scoops and bins brimming with grain and seeds. I fill the bowls with mineral pellets and feed, a fistful of treats shared among them, and troop to the pasture gate. All the faces are there, anxiously waiting. I dole out the goods, and steal a moment, arms crossed on the cool, dewy, metal, watching goats and donkeys savor their breakfast. My Silky rooster crows near my feet, his voice much louder than any bird as small as he is should be. An unseen neighbor rooster answers from a long distance.
Just like that every domestic animal at FairWinds is full of good food, and my head is still full of the words I started my day with. And that is a gift.
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