Wrens For The Win

Updated: May 9

The windows to my study are shaking. The water hits them with a force that makes me think, for just a minute, that they may shatter. It is not rain that rattles the glass, but the pressure washer I hired to give Sandhill a bath. A much needed bath. Water and some kind of soapy something will wash away the dust and algae and bird droppings and whatever else has settled on the roof and walls around me since I last had it done. I wasn’t here the last time. I was still spending my days in a courtroom. But today I get to listen to the rattle, see the tiny rivers run down the glass, feel in my bones the rhythm of the shush shush shush. When I go outside I will smell something like bleach. It is a shame I can’t taste anything; I would like to say that home maintenance is a full sensory experience. When the shushing stops, I walk outside to find puddles on the front porch, shaking like Jell-O in the spring breeze. The cement of the carport is – rid of its clumps of red clay and yellow pollen – the color of cement, flat gra