I am not bound for any public place, but for ground of my own where I have planted vines and orchard trees, and in the heat of the day climbed up into the healing shadow of the woods. Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup. ~Wendell Berry
Monday, October 24, 2011
I always feel foolish when I hit my head.
It is, after all,
where my eyes are located.
But the last time I hit my head, I felt foolish
for another reason.
I was at the farm alone, doing chores
and I hit my head on something that I had
hit it on before.
I swore a little and kept working
until the blood got in my eye.
Then I panicked.
The sight of my own blood always
scares me. Mainly because I immediately start
calculating how long it will take me to get
to an emergency room, if I had to.
This time, as I held the wound with a dirty glove,
and walked back to the house, all the way
murmuring aloud "Please don't let it be deep",
I started in on myself.
I bought this farm to retire at.
To grow old at.
What the heck was I thinking!?
I can't even do chores without a head injury.
How can I live out here alone?
You stupid, stupid old woman.
By the time I got to the house
I had beaten my self up pretty bad.
And looking in the mirror with blood on my face
only helped confirm the battle.
I cleaned myself up,
got out the first aid kit, dabbed on some antiseptic
and covered the gash with an eye patch and tape.
I finished the chores and with cut head
and a broken dream,
drove back to town.
I showed the girls my owie. And got their sympathy.
Rikki told me I needed two stitches. What does she know.
It took a full day for me to come back to my senses about this.
Maybe I had rattled my brain too much.
Anywhere, anytime and for any reason.
Even if I had someone living with me at the farm,
chances are I would have still been alone that day.