We’re making daub to finish Peter and Livia’s cob house. I step in gingerly. I have to warm up to the idea of muddy feet. But then it feels so good–gritty, cool, squirting between my toes.
Almost always there would be tracks–sometimes it would appear an entire flock of quail had circled him. Others, we would see the tracks of a coyote or wolf, and sometimes a mountain lion.
Cougar stands, stretches her strong, muscled body long, longer, front legs far out in front, almost touching my toes. She widens her paws and flexes her claws, each one big as an eagle’s beak, then draws back her legs, bends her head, stretches her neck and licks my toes.
Cheyenne and I say good night and head up the path toward our bungalow. I breathe deeply, pulling in the fragrances of night-blooming jasmine and honeysuckle. The cool evening air is delicious on my skin.
A light fog rolls in from the west as I wait my turn for the soup tureens. I sniff the air. Co-mingling aromas of garlic, oregano, thyme, basil, and fresh tomato call to me the moment I step inside the door.
Janine has woven the greens, browns, and yellows of the hills, the muted colors of the woods on one side, and the brilliant splotches of the flowering meadows in front. I can smell the rich moldy soil of the woods underfoot and the crisp drying grasses in the summer heat.
In silence, hearing only the sound of each other’s breath and our own heartbeats, we experience our selves together yet separate.
For the first time, we see one of Rose’s paintings, a work in progress: Bubble poppies bobbing in the breeze as a storm approaches the top of the hill.
The lunch gong sounds. I clean and put away my tools, wash up, and head for the dining room. The teen orchestra are tuning their instruments as I wait in line with Merilee. We will have a concert today!
Murgatroid steps across my hands, brushing her bushy black tail under my nose. But she doesn’t like the loamy soil. Dirties her paws. She soon retreats to the edge of the grass, where she plops down, spreads her forelegs back and over her head and exposes her underbelly to the morning sun.
Village of Ordinary 