The last morning I went out to feed the chickens I was feeling pensive. They were acclimating to the absence of sisters already gone, and perhaps knew that change was nipping their heels as well. If chickens have heels at all. My son has a dog that sensed an impending move, and camped out in the car for two days. By the time Micah started the engine, Zane had firmly established squatter's rights in the passenger seat.

There were only a few chickens left, a scant dozen, which for people more reasonable than myself would have constituted a full house. But I suppose moderation has never been my signature characteristic, having birthed nine children, composed a hundred songs, and completed a thousand quilts.

It was peaceful, just watching the pullets and matrons interact. With many dominant personalities gone, they stretched their wings a little wider. But the yard is large and the foliage was calling. They went back to the business of munching. 

So this was chicken keeping in its simplest form. How peaceful. I had been caught up in the attraction of more breeds, fresh chicks, yet another coop. But in the quiet of that morning I experienced the essence of being with birds.

Hagrid found a bug, and seemed pleased. CJ perched on the tippy top of the white pen. Because she could. Bernie considered the possibility of laying in a vacant coop. How brazen. 

Life can beckon like Ulysses' Sirens, tempting us to own more, prove more, accrue more friends, acquire more stamps on our passport. It can require Herculean strength- or knotted ropes- to resist. Ironically, sometimes Life herself supplies the tethers... in the form of an empty bank account, or a week in bed. Then we are alone with the chance to look more closely. Fly to the pinnacle of our own circumstances. Explore the empty spaces of our own heart.