Mountain Woman

In the dirt, I’m pulling weeds. I’m filling the bird feeders with seeds and nuts and mowing native grass with a reel mower. Later, I'm hiking around the oak brush trying to find a logging road.

I’m feeling all “tough” and “tomboyish” up here at our retreat home in Colorado, and I’m sure Ron must be appreciating the fact that I don’t mind the rough life (no pun intended) and that I’m not afraid to sweat. I'm cool with the possibility that I might run into a bear or a mountain lion. I don't mind that practically every time I pick up a Ponderosa pine cone I get pricked by its thorn.

A flower petal floats in the breeze and lands on my head.

“EEEEEeeeeeeee!” I yell, jumping three feet in the air. When I see it’s a flower petal I put my hand on my chest and breathe a sign of relief.

“I thought it was a tick,” I explain to Ron who stopped dead in his tracks at the commotion.

“That’s my mountain woman!” he says.

~~~

We’ve been out here at our retreat home for almost a week now. I love it except I miss you! I haven’t been keeping up with blog reading. But this afternoon I'm at the Internet Café in town, so off I go to catch up on what you’ve all been up to!