Sunday, August 19, 2012

when chickens call

Yesterday I sat in the afternoon trying-to-sunshine on Catboxette's lovely deck, listening to the garden grow and next door's chickens serenading the neighborhood.

Chicken songs are not everyone's idea of beautiful music, but when I hear the several tribes of them who live in several adjoining back yards just east of here talking back and forth to each other, I'm more certain than ever that I've found paradise.

There's a feeling of deep tranquility in the uncompromising simplicity of this place. It's as if all the modern world's destructive complexity has been banished from an insignificant, out-of-the-way patch of ground, so that nothing is left here except life itself, and lots of it. This is how a person comes to understand the meaning of being alive; it's necessary to remove everything that's intruded into our lives -- cars, supermarkets, stock markets, insurance -- that distract from the essential meaning.

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