The Farm Journal

During the day it is avoidable. So much to do on the farm, even if it means hiding from the chores in the middle of a sweaty, hot, June day like a lazy girl of privilege.
The evenings can be okay too, with a little front porch,wine, and a cigarette if I am really desperate. It is night time which is hard. Night time includes all the shadows, and blocks out the animal's faces.
I am left to my own devices, which run along my vision like discordant clock hands. I pace or force myself to sleep through various attempts at prayer and visceral begging. This is when I realize I am on a mountain alone. If I screamed my head off till my voice grew raspy and my eyes became bloodshot, one wouldn't know.If I took off all my clothes and connected the freckles on my skin like a gigantic connect a dot, one would never know. To realize this is to my own creation is vexing. I would rather be listening to his stories or kissing. Its true. Nature has won in all arenas. It is that, to which I find an odd comfort. To know I am made of the good stuff, just like you.