Lucky...

 We often say it to each other, waking as the dawn brightens the curtains, and we untangle our limbs before starting the day. "We are so lucky." 

Late afternoon yesterday,  the sky darkened as heavy clouds rolled in from the west. Rachel and I dashed out to make sure the new flock of layer chicks were tucked up where they would be warm and dry. I peeked into the little coop where Thedonald and his ladies live, and one lady was missing. I hoped she was under the coop and dashed inside as the skies released a deluge. We watched the torrent from the kitchen, and soon... 

A double rainbow, the colors from the brighter one ending in front of my trees. My very own treasure, right here. 

At dusk, after the goats were milked, I checked on the Cochin's again. Thedonald and two ladies were in the coop. One still missing. Were the remaining birds acting a little subdued, or was I reading into the situation? These are small chickens; one could easily have been lifted off by a bird of prey. I looked in all the obvious places to see if there was evidence in the form of a feather splash to tell the story of her absence. There were no tell-tale signs, so I locked the coop with a sad sigh. 

It rained more in the night, and I fretted a bit about my missing hen. This morning as I did chores, I cast a hopeful glance at the coop, wondering if she'd found her way home and was loitering by the door, waiting for her family to join her. I was disappointed. 

When every animal had been fed and watered, I walked the pasture, looking again for a sign of a chicken's demise. On this first day of September, the air was cool with the slightest hint of a crisp fall morning. Spider webs spangled with dew decorated the fence, songbirds called, and the air smelled clean and fresh from the rain. And then... movement where it wasn't expected. Far from her coop, around the side of the paddock, a bedraggled gray form was poking in the weeds. 

She had somehow been separated from the rest of the flock. She survived the storm and the long night outside her safe coop. I can't say she was as happy to see me as I was to see her. I swooped in, scooped her up, and carried her across the wet pasture and through the gate. I snuggled her in safely with her family, and she tucked into breakfast. 

We often say it to each other. When the last guest leaves and the kitchen is stacked with dishes, when our hearts are full from the fun of sharing a meal and the chatter and laughter that ensues, "We are so lucky." And we are, every grateful day.