I found everything as if it were yesterday: joy and regret. The time must have been a carousel with a center around which glided events or riding, or maybe it was the other way around? The center revolved around things? Because there is no apparent progress, at least not linear. Apparent standstill in the center frightens 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 hunting, as always given birth at this time with boys - they tried again a couple of sawdust 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" appeared and boys alike with ausmistete. Since then, the bitch has as always at this time of year fever and chills, a mammary gland as a rock and creeps and winds up in fear like a trampled worm on the ground, as far as the tail pinched that it protrudes below the bust.
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 no one need nervous hounds at least I own.
Therefore, I'll always like 10% Greek yogurt cream and push it through a day below the grid. Joy and greed tugs 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 damp, 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 the boredom. Bored, I wonder why there are still people that dogs with pigs, dogs and both with mindless, Vernutzung to wear and imaginary everyday objects 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 green with their flashing eyes enjoying my secret admiration. An image of independence, love of freedom and wildness, sometimes years untraceable, especially when I signed with castration thoughts, then reappeared as if everything was yesterday launched purring to tenderness. It does around her tail and her Hinterteilchen been stretched high, as it would require even a hint on 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 to exactly the extent of two doses and the potty.
I peer up and try to make the entrance hole of the bees find that successfully transform my house now for the third year in a beehive in the gable. I try to imagine what it must look like in there. I can, once again, only conjecture. Somehow I had hoped again, the bees had the cold, damp, like-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 comes startled hummed through the ceiling and manic umsummt the light, so I inevitably interrupt my reading, as always resort to lying ready flap and must carry the pesky Summerin outside. The hysterical growl and interrupt my comforting Voreinschlafphase make me angry. But again and again soothed me, the thought of the many divine moments of my life that gave me this bustling nature: with shimmering, Piedmont acacia honey, I for breakfast on a par thick oatmeal, Greek yogurt and sliced kiwi, bananas, red grapefruit pieces and dripped apples, or karamellartigem, pale yellow French lavender honey, tone on tone, a thick bread and butter smeared sheet, or slightly resinous, dark Amazon honey from Brazil, which tastes somehow orchids, colorful parrots and giant jungle plants.
Since it is probably the least that I repair my house as a refuge available these creators my honey happiness.
This small sacrifice it must me so well - its worth - as always.
