There are chickens in the Rhododendron. It sounds great just to say it. Doesn’t everyone? Being sick for me is a curious mixture of things. Life is suspended, I am liberated from chores, work, responsibility. It is sensitizing, it opens me up to empathy, and an awareness of pain and suffering. It is distracting, narcissistic. It opens the doors to love and caring. It removes hope, and then offers it, I am conscious of feeling well. It takes creativity away, yet healing is profoundly creative. Photographs are my thermometer, a way of taking my temperature. Maria took the dogs out for a walk in the woods but I felt weak so couldn’t go and I took the camera and sat out in the chair and waited for my farm to help me heal, and it did, the farm never disappoints.

There was a cool breeze, but I was soaked in sweat, I felt weak and sorry for myself, and then I breathed quietly and listened to the soft pecking of the chickens in the grass, watched the fading light move across the cornfield, saw the deer come out of the woods to graze and I felt peaceful and at ease. Being sick reminds me of what is important, what I care about, and yes, lets my restless soul rest.

Red came back from the walk and sat by me, the chickens marched into the Rhododendron, Flo the regal barn cat came over and sat in front of me, I saw one of the chickens out in the pasture, Simon came over to the fence and stared at me for many minutes, donkeys do not miss things like sickness. And so I got a photo album, was able to record some images of my own healing, for me the very embodiment of beginning to be well.