november on the hill

We've had several days of rain now, with gray skies and misty fields. The brilliant splotches of deep color and the rustlings of various creatures in the woods. Each time I walked down the labyrinth path with a wheelbarrow load, a small flock of birds (Eastern Kingbirds?) flew up and then settled again, their tiny wings batting the drying leaves and making the most lovely sound.

Yesterday my daughter and I spent hours keeping stalls clean and comfy, while the geldings cavorted in the drizzle of the back field, rearing and bucking and squealing like hyenas.

Salina paced and fretted whenever her donkey pair ventured from one end of the barn aisle to the other and she couldn't see them. We put her on the far side of the barn so she could walk and stretch her legs more, and the Little Man ended up on the near side for the evening.

Redford has convinced Rafer Johnson that rain is not so bad, and the two donkeys made a number of forays in the rain: one to check up on Salina, another to the round bale (which was woefully covered, so they made that trip for nothing!) and a final one to visit the pony through the arena gate.

Ken and Marty sent Rafer Johnson a beautiful new (and larger) halter, in black, and I know it is going to look so handsome on him.

I also got a call yesterday from Patsy with Cody's kinesiology test results. He has low digestive enzymes and a kidney stone! She sent two supplements to address these things and I updated her on Keil Bay and the pony. I'm relieved Cody has so little going on, and intrigued that the kidney stone could be the culprit for some hind end weakness he has sporadically.

Everyone is doing so well right now I rescheduled our chiropractic visit until December.

On other fronts, I hit the flow with the novel over the weekend and as of this morning have re-sequenced the entire 325 pages. Later today I will try and squeak out all those pages on my just-starting-to-fade printer cartridge and begin the page edits I've been wanting to do for two months.

As is usual with my creative process, it happens in layers, and I often don't know why I'm drawn to peel one layer away when it presents itself. It's only after I trust myself enough to do what presents that I realize I had to peel that one away to get to the next one down.

I've also been having some personal hormonal chaos, and I think one thing I've learned is that for me, soy is like a medication and I need to use it judiciously. I'm now reading food labels and focusing more on what I put into my body.

The other thing I learned, or more accurately, remembered, is this:

No riding, no writing, crazy me.

Let's reframe that.

Riding, writing, balanced me.

barn cat in training

Mystic has decided he wants to be a barn cat when he grows up, so Dickens, Barn Cat/Cowboy In Charge, has put the mystical kit into his training program.

Mystic is out at the barn off and on all day and night lately, while Dickens comes inside to take long, luxurious cat naps.

The barn cat in training had an interesting lesson yesterday. I think it had something to do with passing muster by the two donkeys who keep things in order at the barn.

Rafer Johnson did the first inspection. Then he sent Redford out for a second one.



Redford decided he wanted to see how the barn cat moved. Once he'd assessed that the cat's legs do work, he called for some back-up.



Mystic passed - and to celebrate, he proceeded to climb up a tree in the barnyard and put himself in a position most cats love: being above everyone else around.

You may have noticed that Rafer Johnson is totally naked. His leg was stocking up with the splint, and when we took it off per the vet's instructions, the leg immediately began to look better. For now, Rafer is going without it, and we're keeping him contained and also keeping an eye to make sure he's using the leg normally at least part of the time.

So far, he is being the wise donkey we know he is. He uses his leg carefully, rests it as needed, and lays down to sleep and roll. We still have a couple months to go while everything continues to heal and strengthen, but for now, he's looking almost normal again!

The thing I am loving most about photos of Rafer Johnson these days: nearly every photo I take reveals a halo of light. He's always been a special donkey, but I think he earned his angel wings when he broke his leg.

through the doorway of Samhain

November 1 is the Celtic feast of Samhain. Samhain, Gaelic for "summer's end," was the most important of the ancient Celtic feasts.

A chant for Samhain that I love:

A year of beauty. A year of plenty. A year of planting. A year of harvest.
A year of forests. A year of healing. A year of vision. A year of passion.
A year of rebirth. A year of rebirth. This year may we renew the earth.
Let it begin with each step we take. Let it begin with each change we make.
Let it begin with each chain we break. And let it begin every time we awake.

spirits and angels

Since today is Halloween, and in honor of the Celtic celebration of Samhain, I'm offering a true and mysterious tale of spirits and angels.

When I was a little girl, in the middle of the night of the first sleepover I remember having, my friend woke me up to ask why there was a man standing by my dresser. I looked around the room and saw nothing, but she insisted there had been a man standing there, and that he had been watching me while I slept.

This same friend reported this on more than one occasion during our childhoods.

When we were teenagers, years later, we were having a sleepover at another friend's house. There were 5 of us there, and we were in the kitchen, doing what adolescent girls love to do: listening to music, talking, and eating.

My aforementioned friend and I were sitting on one side of the kitchen table, our backs to the kitchen window. The other three friends were on the opposite side. They suddenly started screaming and ran out of the kitchen. My friend and I flew around the table and followed.

It turned out they had seen a man's face in the window. They each described the face in some detail. As they went through their individual descriptions, my other friend's face became more and more puzzled. "That's the same man I saw watching you those times," she said.

I've come to believe that this man is some sort of spirit being who, for whatever reason, has looked out for me my entire life.

I don't know who he is. My maternal grandfather died when I was young, and I do remember going to his funeral. But physically he doesn't resemble the descriptions of the man my friends described.

In any case, his presence has always been benign, and it's always been true that I have had an aura of safety that has carried me through some dicey situations.

I'd love to hear your stories if any of you want to share!

my new intention with reference to the novels

Ezra Pound said:

Man reading should be man intensely alive. The book should be a ball of light in one's hand.

Now I know why it is taking me so long to get these novels right AND why writing novels is such a transformative, wonderful process. It's alchemy of a very special kind.