The True Vyne

I removed the old school desk from the front porch in September to add more working space in the home school room, so the dear hen no longer has a place to abide just outside my front window. Before I took the desk inside, the stately chicken used to huddle inside the metal book holder portion at the bottom of the desk for rest. In the days before the desk relocation, I delighted to hear her rustling a few feet from where I lay my own head down in rest. I am reminded today of the disappearance of her dwelling as she visits the corner the desk used to inhabit. She softly coos and purrs; a contented hen makes such peaceful noises. It’s the first time in a long while since I’ve become conscious of missing her tender chatter, of her elegant black feathers waving in the wind as she peeks curiously inside the glass pane at me. Surprisingly, I find simple pleasure in observing the chicken’s inquisitive nature unfold with slight jerks of the small head and darting deep black eyes. Real farmers nor any other reasonable people for that matter probably don’t ponder such trivialities, but I feel more deeply, think more clearly, when I pause to marvel at my hen friend’s voice. Laugh if you like, but I become more connected to creation and recognize, I cognize again that all life is precious and vulnerable. This beloved hen carries within her an egg or more with all the potential of a newborn chick. Something I’m always looking for- a way to begin again. A fresh start contained in a fresh egg.