Waiting In The Pits

One morning while out tending to her AM chores, Maria ran back to the house crying “The sheep! The sheep!”

Maria had been feeding the animals when she caught sight of an inverted sheep, head buried in the hay and feet in the air (classic dead-bug or happy-baby yoga pose; but in this case, closer to the bug.) Poor girl, she couldn’t stand.

Iris re-inverted the ewe and tried to place the animal on her feet. Given that our genus Homo are not proficient communicators with her genus Ovis, we can only assume what might have occurred: perhaps she’s pregnant and simply toppled over.

The sheep is back on all four and today we wait to see, under that winter fleece, a new baby lamb.

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This morning while out tending to my wound during the 4th hospital visit, I was crying “My leg. My leg.”

I had been obeying orders, resting, taking medicine, lying on my back with my foot in the air (half a happy-baby pose) but still, poor girl, I cannot stand.

The doctor tried the possibility of removing the sutures, however, the skin had not reconnected. Since my reasoning mind is not a proficient communicator with the autonomic activity of epidermal healing, we can only assume what might have occurred: perhaps I simply have a very nasty slash from when I toppled over.

One day I’ll be back on all two while today I wait to see (under that winter fleece), a new layer of skin.

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Addendum:
I believe there is a higher intelligence that conducts the creation of babies, the change in seasons, the flight of birds, and the walk of man. With such a complicated symphony, I’m glad to be sitting in the orchestra pits; I’ll wait for my cue should I need to start.