I’m flying through summer sort of like this Purple Martin. 
It might not be prudent to fly for too long without looking where you are headed but when there is so much going on around you how do you even have time to look ahead to the next week?
Tonight was the first night in the 16 days the kids have been off school that I’ve had a breather to look around and start picking up the house… and the garage… and the yard… and the trucks…
It was like an archaeological dig.
On top of the couch was the bag of dress clothes I wore to the funeral of a family friend this morning. Hiding under that was the miscellaneous items the kids dropped on their way in the door from the summer solstice party we were at yesterday. The garage was heaped with the camping things from earlier in the week. And under it all was a thick layer of capoeira debris from a solid week of workshops and events. Drum making materials mixed with extra instruments on the mantel, cord dying equipment still on the table, boxes of un-sold shirts by the stove and stinky workout clothes in all the corners. Feed for the new goslings can be found under the camping equipment in the garage. And if you dig deep enough in the truck you can still find the remains of the tools we brought north to build bunk beds at the family cabin. Buried beneath it all on the table was a mountain of papers the girls brought home on the last day of school.
The fridge is mostly devoid of food and the laundry, clean and dirty, is piled high. But the good times have been plentiful and now I’ll have some time to work on the mess we left in our wake…
… but first I have two weddings to celebrate…
Head held high, he rocks sternly from side to side as he passes by. Often covered in mud but too proud to acknowledge that he may be anything less than feathered perfection, he carries on. Occasionally he trips over something that didn’t bow to his greatness and move out of his way. Sometimes that thing is a stick, or a log, sometimes it’s a duck. No matter, he marches on, ignoring anything rude enough to get in his path and expressing his disdain for them by refusing to acknowledge anything that creates a bump in his road and simply walks through it. 
Occasionally he falls down, but his head never bows, and I wouldn’t dare laugh for I suspect he thinks he’s the king of the orchard.
