Familial Algorhythms

I am channeling high voltages in the Urban Homestead this morning. How much is mine and how much is afloat in the air, I cannot tell. I sense much hope in the voltage currents, but high voltage is high voltage. Whatever the content, high voltage carries the potential to jump its stream with the gentlest brush of intent. The fiery bits within the high voltage stream disperse in burning nature as easily as a water balloon bursts in childish play. Be the voltages from my strictly personal psychosis and/or the flap of a butterfly's wing in China, the high voltage stream has a Life of its own, unique from all the other high voltage streams meeting in the electrical transformer in the power grid feeding electricity to the house through the wire connected to the porch over my head. The tones and timing of the morning bird concert make me think the many of voltage sources are ambiental. The sun is still not up and the chatter between them is noticeable, even to my impaired hearing. Golda, the Golden Comet hen has been talking to me from her roost on the kitchen window ledge since I first opened the patio door. Her throaty sounds sound restless far more than alarmed. I am tempted to translate those throaty sounds as, "Let the Day begin, would ya? There's scratch to be pecked. Bugs to be dugged. Let us get on with it."

And there she goes. You can see the sunrise better from the other side of the house.

The two couple voltages currently in the house feel stable enough. Two couple voltages. . . Four individuals united into two streams with complex coordination between all four individuals. Insert algorhythm here? Should I develop my alleged math talents now? The familial algorhythms?

Fissuring. . . Manic broadcast in progress. . .

'Tis a manic broadcast and nothing more. Simply frazzled outcast from a heart which is sore.

Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer for the family party in progress. Think I'll wear my glass rose rosary.