M’s Girls – Photo: L. Weikel
Not My Girls
I’ve written a couple of times about ‘my girls,’ referring to the chickens kept by my next door neighbor. (You will recall, ‘my girls’ were also the sweethearts of the late great Duckhead.)
The photo above is of a dear friend’s chickens. They scampered out to greet me a couple weeks ago when I paid her a visit and I couldn’t resist taking their picture. I’m pretty sure they’re sure – cocksure, one might say – of their irresistible beauty. It almost seemed as though they were parading around the yard in such a fashion as to deliberately display their dazzling feathers and demand they be memorialized.
Guinea Hen
And then there was the guinea hen. She, too, is quite beautiful – in a more eclectic, yet understated manner.
Yes; I know. What’s with writing about chickens, dead roosters, and guinea hens, Lisa?
Well, I would answer, it’s late. I’m tired. And sometimes I just want to share some natural beauty with you. I would rather have you wake up tomorrow to a photo of a beautiful chicken than a screed by me about the incompetencies and outright callous disregard for human life of the current regime.
I’m funny like that – because you also know all too well that there are some days I can go off half-cocked and rail against injustice. Or incompetence. Or a whole host of things that don’t seem right anymore and which surround and threaten to pull us under.
But instead? Tonight?
I’m satisfied with posting pretty pictures of chickens and guinea hens and making puns about the other name for roosters.
Aren’t you glad I don’t force ‘serious’ every night?
(T-638)