Transmission #3
Hello, old friend.
I'm still here.
Writing brings out the softer side of me, and for a while I didn't feel like going there. In a world such as this – in a time such as this – I needed to focus on my strengths. But this time of year always makes me feel wistful (perhaps the cool weather cools my temper as well) and I feel safe enough to reveal my soft belly here again.
It is a soft day here on the farm. At dawn, the sun pinkened the sky, blurring the edges of the horizon and blending it into the vast indigo field of stars.
A brisk-yet-refreshing mist has settled into the hills, tucked down in the valleys and peeking over the horizons. During a few morning chores, I was engulfed in it, barely able to see the ancient black barn hiding in the lower field. The twin maple trees are wearing their autumn gold, while others such as the black walnuts are already stark silhouettes ready for the dark time of the year.
A new plague is wiping out the local White-tailed Deer population, producing tiny bespeckled orphans that venture into my yard from time to time. My heart breaks for these lonely souls; most are born as twins so not only have they lost a mother, but half of themselves as well. Even though I have (most of) the creature comforts in life, I feel a kindredness with them. I understand the deepness of feeling completely alone in the world.
Lately, I have been trying to connect with my fellow Homo Sapiens. This has yielded… unsatisfactory results. Downtrodden by the cruelty and indifference, I suppose I'm writing to you simply because I have no one else to talk to.
Recently, I set my sights on befriending a Spotted Orbweaver who has taken up residence on my front porch. Also known as a Barn Spider, I have (of course) named her Charlotte, since she is the same species as the eponymous character in the beloved children's book. Soon, I plan on making a pilgrimage to my favorite hickory tree to forage a few fallen nuts. I'll keep the unmarred ones, then offer her the weevils as a pledge of friendship. (Unfortunately, I made the mistake of sharing this plan with another member of my species, and scared them quite away.)
But licking my wounds will have to wait; time stops for nothing and no one when you live on a farm (even an abandoned one.) Hopefully, the warm sun will lift my mood as it has lifted the mist, and I will bring you happier tidings in my next transmission.
I'm still here.
Writing brings out the softer side of me, and for a while I didn't feel like going there. In a world such as this – in a time such as this – I needed to focus on my strengths. But this time of year always makes me feel wistful (perhaps the cool weather cools my temper as well) and I feel safe enough to reveal my soft belly here again.
It is a soft day here on the farm. At dawn, the sun pinkened the sky, blurring the edges of the horizon and blending it into the vast indigo field of stars.
A brisk-yet-refreshing mist has settled into the hills, tucked down in the valleys and peeking over the horizons. During a few morning chores, I was engulfed in it, barely able to see the ancient black barn hiding in the lower field. The twin maple trees are wearing their autumn gold, while others such as the black walnuts are already stark silhouettes ready for the dark time of the year.
A new plague is wiping out the local White-tailed Deer population, producing tiny bespeckled orphans that venture into my yard from time to time. My heart breaks for these lonely souls; most are born as twins so not only have they lost a mother, but half of themselves as well. Even though I have (most of) the creature comforts in life, I feel a kindredness with them. I understand the deepness of feeling completely alone in the world.
Lately, I have been trying to connect with my fellow Homo Sapiens. This has yielded… unsatisfactory results. Downtrodden by the cruelty and indifference, I suppose I'm writing to you simply because I have no one else to talk to.
Recently, I set my sights on befriending a Spotted Orbweaver who has taken up residence on my front porch. Also known as a Barn Spider, I have (of course) named her Charlotte, since she is the same species as the eponymous character in the beloved children's book. Soon, I plan on making a pilgrimage to my favorite hickory tree to forage a few fallen nuts. I'll keep the unmarred ones, then offer her the weevils as a pledge of friendship. (Unfortunately, I made the mistake of sharing this plan with another member of my species, and scared them quite away.)
But licking my wounds will have to wait; time stops for nothing and no one when you live on a farm (even an abandoned one.) Hopefully, the warm sun will lift my mood as it has lifted the mist, and I will bring you happier tidings in my next transmission.
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