Stung

The creaking of an old fence gate breaks the soothing hum of the garden; an old stone path teases the curious to see where the trail might lead.  Sunflowers sway overhead, nodding in quiet greeting as you pass by. To the right, apple trees bow under the load of their fruit, to the left a bluejay squawks excitedly from the shadows of a cherry tree.

A Monarch butterfly dances into view, pirouettes above the lavender and moves to the milkweed beyond.  It’s a familiar place, overgrown, untended but not unloved, you’ve been here before, maybe, so long ago now.  There’s a house ahead, you can see the stairs weathered and inviting; the door is open for you.  There are voices, women, a tv perhaps…

Auntie Mame: Oh, Agnes! Here you’ve been taking my dictations for weeks and you haven’t gotten the message of my book: live!
Agnes Gooch: Live?
Auntie Mame: Yes! Live! Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!

In my silence these last three years I hope you have feasted well: Tried new things, frolicked in the sun, read worthwhile books.  I have. Like a hobbit, I’ve been “there and back again” and if it wasn’t a good time, it was a good story.

My sweet Momzelle has urged me to write, to get my stories back out there.  So, my podcast will come back one day soon.  In the meanwhile, welcome to High Desert Meowzings, my adventures of life in the high desert of Nevada.   You’ll read a lot about my beloved bees, The Fighting 91st, as I think of them, and all the other odd and assorted elements of my life that sparkle in the Light.

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