Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal landed in the birdbath and splashed away, the humming birds were darting in and out of the flowers, and the doves were cooing as they found their seed on the ground. Yea, on the ground because the fat-ass fcking black birds are the biggest hillbillies and can't eat at the feeders nicely. They have to throw seed every which way. (Oh, I lost my loveliness for a moment, sorry. I won't digress again into nastiness. Promise.) Can't everyday be like this? I usually don't have an alcoholic beverage to start my day, but what the hell. It's summertime and the weather is beautiful, and there are very few leisurely mornings around this rat-trap (oops! I digressed into nastiness again. I'm trying not to, really I am!)
And then I began to think back to the meaning of "rhythm of life." Have you found yours?
I think Kate of Oddball Knittery has found hers. It's in the rhythm of the cocktail shaker.
Mine is in the rhythm of the Smoothie Maker. What's your rhythm of life? The rhythm of the needles?



