(The morning view from the porch at God’s Whisper Farm)
Remember a few weeks back when I wrote about Cutting Loose at a friend’s farm while enjoying a weekend long writing retreat? This week I’m honored to host the farm’s owner, author and editor, Andi Cumbo-Floyd. Andi writes and lives from her heart and I hope you’ll listen close to her words to get a sense of the love and presence they emanate. Then, scroll down and visit the link to check out her new e-book, Writing Day-In and Day-Out: Living a Practice of Words.
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light. But it is lighter than it was a few minutes ago when it was actually
dark. Now, the sky is indigo and graying at the edges, waking into aging,
I am still
in my pajamas, the interior seams almost gone but still adequate enough to
cover me for my walk to the chicken coop. The road is an 1/8 of a mile away,
and the glimpse of the farmstead is slim, even if an early-rolling trucker
comes by. My feet slide easily into my morning-cooled rubber shoes, and I walk
the trail across the grass, knowing that when I return it will look like two
wheels rolled the path.
I begin at
the front of the wagon shed and slide back the bolt that does nothing but hold
the door shut. Inside, I can just make out Lemon’s fluff beside the window
screen. I stretch my arm long and slip the hook out of her eye. “Good morning,
babies.” I pour feed into the lime-green
trench of holes and step out.
babies, I can hear him. He’s already crowed once in that sound that used to
startle and delight me. The true cock-a-doodle-do of children’s books. Now, I hear him rustling, his horny feet
grasping the post on which he sleeps, sort of, still.
his girls are sleeping, too, and I can hear the quite cuckle of their dreams. A
coo. A tiny cluck. A mewl even. I’m
fairly certain I have never heard a sound so peaceful.
lets fly his crow again, and I move a bit more quickly, eager to get the big
birds food out before he wakes fully. I
toss Oyster shell into the scoop and then layer feed. I slide open another
bolt, this one to the run and step in, swing the feed into the red trays
slide open the third bolt of my morning and swing the door to the back coop
open before moving backwards as fast as I can, the feed scoop arcing in front
of me as a ward against flying rooster spurs.
But then, I
hear him crow again, from far back in the coop. He sings, and then, soft as a
whisper, I hear the rasp of a sigh come from him. “Sleepy rooster,” I say.
that one bolt back into place on the run and stand outside, waiting. First,
comes Fern, her head full of feathers like an awkward crown. Then, Xander steps
forth, breast high, shoulders back. He fluffs up and struts, and he lets loose.
Bold, brazen, moving toward me without fear.
hear that sigh of sleepiness ease from his mouth. “Good boy, Xander. Good boy.”
are all at our best when we step into the day new, a little sleepy in the
Andi Cumbo-Floyd is a
writer, editor, and writing coach who farms at the edge of the Blue Ridge
Mountains with her husband, 4 dogs, 4 cats, 6 goats, and 26 chickens. Her
latest book is Writing Day In and Day Out: Living a Practice of Words and is available on Kobo and Amazon. You can find out more about her work at her website, andilit.com
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Welcome to the #SmallWonder link-up.
What if we chose to deliberately look for the small moments of wonder, the small sparks of presence, of delight or sorrow, of true humanity in which we meet God?
That’s my proposal – that we gather here each week to share one moment of Wonder from each of our days.
You’re invited to link-up a brief post about a small moment of wonder. Don’t worry if your post is too long, too short, or not just right – you’re welcome to come as you are.
While you’re here, please do take a look around and encourage at least one other blogger with a comment.