8-18-55 'Til Now

Today has been cloudy & I've been inside 'til now, reading, playing the piano, and cleaning. Didn't hear that strange bird last night - wish I knew what made the call. The sunset last evening was lovely - layers of pink, peach, orange & even smoky green clouds smeared across the whole of the sky - I watched while the sun sank & took its gaudy scarves with it - the color, drained from those clouds leaving them grey & drab like the colored flavoring I suck from a popsicle leaves the tasteless ice behind.

Yesterday I walked up the hill behind the barn up to the row of hawthorne (?) trees & sat & watched the panorama that was opened to my eyes - I could see hills overlapping hills & distant farms & fields all diminished by the tremendous reach of sky above - it was a joyous sky, exciting & activating - it appeared that the different layers of trembling clouds were sailing in different directions but I think just the lower strata was moving swiftly, appearing to make the upper static layer move in the opposite direction.

There was a hawk flying above the trees opposite & I watched her - she barely moved her wings during the whole time I watched her flight - she soared in a spiral - banking around & then over & up higher, around again & again, catching, I guess, and using to advantage each updraft of air - I can hardly describe the joyous freedom & complete effortlessness with which she rose higher & higher 'til I scarce could keep my eye on her - over, around & ever upward with never so much as a flutter of her wings. I envy that hawk & it reminds me of Bob's and my secret promise - to learn to fly soon.

I'm getting so to like the chickens here - I never knew any so well before. They are certainly social - almost to a bird they grub or rest together - I like to watch them look for food - they're sharp eyed & seldom miss an insect their beady eye spies - their large feet mince forward, all eyes alert for aught that moves - their head bobbing at a great rate - the layers of feathers down to the base of thin neck sliding forward with each bob - there's one now having a try for the buttons on the knees of my kneepants - I like the soft, fluffy mess of feathers about their legs & hindparts like feather boas - they come down to their knees like ruffly pantaloons - when they crowd around my hand as I sprinkle the feed in the trough I can feel they are warm & cushiony - soft & smooth - they rest from their labors & the heat of the day under the peony bushes or lilac bush, all puffed out & round - there's an old hen in the barn yard whose red comb is so large as to flap over one side of her head, comically looking like a sunbonnet or rakish cap.