The sun shines brightly across the frosted tan fields, a few stratus clouds beyond the distant Pikes Peak mountain-of-rock providing for a graceful-looking sky. It is a different picture than last years’ snow-covered ground that sparkled like diamonds, but it’s beautiful all the same. It’s a day of new hope and new beginnings. I like this quote that has been showing up from various friends on my Facebook feed, “Today is the first blank page of a 365-page book. Write a good one”.
Good or bad, as I age, I recognize that when the back is aching, it is time to get out of bed and move. I do, heading for the mud room to fill the water container for the chickens, realizing that it still lays outside by the coop door. A tinge of disappointment attempts an appearance as I realize I forgot to bring it indoors last night, and it’s – no doubt – completely frozen from single-digit temps. Oh well. No biggie. The girls will survive a few more minutes while hot water is run over to release the ice and fill it fresh.
I set new water outside the coop door, and step inside, doling out the day’s measure of feed and scratch-grains. Heading back out along the path I’ve walked hundreds of times, the feed trough in one hand and a scoop of grains in the other, my foot catches on some scrub oak jutting out of the solid ground. Immediately, my vision goes into expanded slow motion as I feel my feet stumble, my legs and arms in desperate flailing to catch myself, but to no avail. I am going down! My upper body (is it actually my face?) careens straight for a wooden 4 x 4 that now appears to be an 8 x 8, and somehow I shift, avoiding a painful and damaging face-plant. I am sure I was ever-so-graceful as I landed fully on my right side, feeder flung forward, and scratch-grains somehow spilled, but still in my hand, both shoes flung off my feet (go ahead – laugh, I am).
Gathering myself up, I am hoping – and hopping – to get my feet back into shoes without stepping in poo. I think I am successful. Turning to look at the damage, I see a pile of feed on the ground beyond the trough and think, “Oh well. They seem to like it better off the ground anyway….. and so do the bluejays.” No expletives escape during this unplanned escapade, but only the thought that I hope the fall was a good thing – maybe it’s just what my body needed to set my ever-unaligned neck back into straight working order.
The girls let loose, I head back to the house, moving carefully, attentive to any odd aches and pains – there are none – for now. I have fallen into this new year. A shifting has taken place, and sometimes that’s just was is needed. Happy New Year!