March 23, 2008 – I have an uneasy relationship with sheep, perhaps because I have Rose’s point of view about them – they exist to be moved around. But today, when I sat in the meadow, Rose right next to me, and I wanted to mediate and pray, Brutus, Number 73, came right up to me, Rose right there, and put his nose in my hand, and I scratched his chin and he closed his eyes, and it was one of those moments that you have with animals, on a farm, where you say oh, and you wonder about the nature of the world, and the mystical chemistry between us and them, and I know Brutus was trying to tell me something, I don’t know what. Maybe it was that life is good, every day a good day in its own day.
 
  So I read from Mary Oliver’s “Praying” to him:

  “It doesn’t have to be
   the blue iris, it could be
   weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
   small stones; just
   pay attention, then patch
  
   a few words together and don’t try
   to make them elaborate, this isn’t
   a contest but the doorway

   into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.”

     So thanks Brutus, for reminding me that beauty is in you, too. I prayed then, for other things. For my family, for Helen, for a friend who is lost but I pray will one day be found, for my sister and her new life, for another friend who is struggling, and another who is brave and for my parents, who struggled with love and life. And I prayed to live a good life, and do the right thing when I have a choice, and to respect myself and my life, and for the dogs to live up to their potential, and for the farm to survive and prosper and that my photos will continue to reflect the light in the world, as well as some darkness.