fifth pound

I met a chickadee who had only one eye.  One eye was normal, the other was an empty space, socket, where the eye should have been.  Long healed and causing no problem.  He landed on my hand long enough to pick a peanut from the seed mix, long enough to show me his scar.  I said, Are you okay?  And he said, Of course; what do you mean?  Wild things do not feel sorry for themselves.


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My mother's book is going to be published in April.  The forward has been written by a famous person.  Not famous like People Magazine famous, but famous in the world of counselling psychology.  Famous enough that it will make a big difference to how many copies of it are sold.  Famous enough that it alarms me a little, because my life is in this book too.  Not just theirs.  No matter how much I tried to disentangle myself.


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