Every morning, I give thanks for the way my day begins. I will never speak poorly of my life, it might be listening. I have worked hard for it, and I savor it. We go out to the pasture, I carry a bucket of water and my camera is strapped across my shoulder. Red, at my side, awaits instructions. Hold the sheep, I tell him, keep them away from Maria and the donkeys. It is done.

Maria has a private conversation with the donkeys each morning, they exchange the news of their lives, it is personal, I stand back. Maria no longer notices the camera, it is part of our tapestry. She takes as many pictures as I do now, some better than mine.

A woman on Facebook asks if I am jealous that Maria is taking good photographs, and I wonder about her marriage.  Nothing could possibly bring me more joy or meaning. You cannot have a raw ego and live with such a brilliant artist.

When Maria is done, she usually has cookies or carrots in her pocket, one of us gets the hay and then  we both shovel the manure out of the Pole Barn, where the animals usually hole up for the night. Then I make breakfast, we take a walk, we go to work. We will not meet again until lunch or dinner. Red stays with me, we need to get Maria a dog.

I love my day and the way it begins. I am liking St. Francis of Assisi’s idea. Our lives should be a shelter of compassion and mercy, just as God wished.