The Chicken Who Came to Visit

There’s usually a reason the dogs go crazy. Last night it was the chicken. A bold bird, it was making its way up the steps surrounded by yapping dogs when I went to see what all the commotion was about. In reality, a rooster, as this morning he woke me at daybreak cock-a-doodling. He’s a taciturn bird, seemingly unmindful of insane dogs snapping at his heels. He’s a tough looking bird with sharp claws and a beak, Hopefully able to defend himself because it’s a tough life in the country for a solitary chicken.

A couple days ago I talked to my son about how the way we look at things can change everything. The last time I lived in this small desert town, I felt trapped, restless, wanted to get away. Of course, that was much how I lived my life, always thinking of the next place to go. Today, I’m at peace. I have friends. A job I like. A stray chicken livens up the day. “You had a bad attitude about a lot of things,” he told me.

Yes, I did. I tried to change my life by changing geographics. It worked for a while. In some cases, the changes were deep and permanent. I still drink green tea and practice the tai chi I learned in China. The education I received in Santa Cruz and Nevada has given me a career. But the running did nothing to heal or change who I was.

Today, in the last place I ever imagined living, I’ve finally come home. I’ve finally stopped running.

Wolf Moon
Cold Days in December
God for Sale
Be Careful What You Wish For
Another Sunday Morning
Fire Season