I have found everything as if it were yesterday: joy and regret. The time must have been a carousel with a center around which slid the events or rode or was it perhaps the other way around? The center of circling around things? Because there is no visible progress, at least not linear. Apparent standstill in the center scares me, but also in the periphery.
I think the red iris again, and it was yesterday, I find a new, checked Nest - empty because the gap between the ceiling beams and blind is too narrow for anything round, as usual; caught in an open concrete box held hunting dog, which is about four times brought out in the year to hunt is, as always, down came this time with boys - they tried again a few shavings to make a kind of nest and suckle their young until the owner, as always, the end of the week to clean the "pig sty" and the boy appeared with equal ausmistete. Since then the bitch has, as always at this season fever and chills, a mammary gland as a rock and creeps and writhes in fear like a trodden worm on the ground, as far as the tail pinched that it protrudes below the breast.
Again, I am baffled by the crate and stare at the thick padlock. Even if it could be smash, it would be an intrusion. And nobody needs nervous hunting dogs, the least I own.
So I get as always 10% Greek yogurt cream and push it through a day below the grid. With joy and greed drags and bites the dog in the potty to make it draw in faster, while she spills as always half on their own droppings and in the wet, urine soaked sawdust - but it will be the highlight of the day, even an empty yogurt cup is distraction and he can as always be completely eaten away by all the rules of art.
My horror somehow gets routine and the routine is close to boredom. Bored, I wonder why there are still people that dogs with pigs, dogs and both with mindless, to Vernutzung and wear imaginary utensils and themselves confused with people.
As always honored me my cat mint every two years at this season - a sure sign that the food situation is hopeless. Mint with their green eyes flashing enjoys my secret admiration. An image of independence, love of freedom and wildness, sometimes years untraceable, especially when I wore myself with castration thoughts, then reappeared, as if everything was yesterday launched purring to caresses. She does around her tail and her Hinterteilchen be stretched high, as it would require even a hint of what is now happening again. I dig out my supplies two Patébüchsen and a potty Greek yogurt cream out. Mint eats, swallows and licks at a frantic pace and finally remains for a while sitting dazed, not to burst. The next day, her belly has grown by exactly the scope of the two doses and the potty.
I peer up and try to make the entrance hole the bees find that successfully transform my house now for the third year in a hive in the roof gable. I try to imagine what it must look like in there. I can, again, only conjecture. Somehow I was hoping again, the bees had the cold, damp, as-may not survive the winter - but no, there they are, as always busy at work. It may not be a big stick, because I hear her "standing up" in the morning at about 7:30 on a regular basis. And at night I wake up with my reading lamp at most times a bee that comes startled hummed through the ceiling and manic umsummt the light, so I inevitably interrupt my reading, as always resort to lying ready cloth and must carry the pesky Summerin outside. The hysterical growl and the interruption of my comforting Voreinschlafphase make me angry. But again and again appeased me the thought of the many divine moments of my life, who gave me this bustling nature: with shimmering, Piedmont acacia honey, I for breakfast on a par thick oatmeal, Greek yogurt and sliced kiwis, bananas, red grapefruit pieces and let drop apples, or with karamellartigem, pale yellow French lavender honey, tone on tone, a thick sheet smeared butter bread or slightly resinous, dark Amazonian honey from Brazil, tastes somehow orchids, colorful parrots and giant jungle plants.
Since it is probably the least that I put my house as a refuge available these creators of my honey happiness.
This small sacrifice it must me so well - its worth - as always.
