Henhouse at Midnight

The night is warm and the air thick, carrying the scent of the mimosa trees and the smell of the dirt from the pond that is still being dug. The night is dark, but my flashlight guides the way through the darkness. I make it to the chicken pen. Inside, the hens are tucked away for the night, soft chirps blend in with the sound of crickets. Our new home is so quiet at night, almost hauntingly quiet. No cars, no talking, nothing but the sounds of nature.

A feather drifts to the floor, the hens watch it float down as little heads peep out from under their mama's wings. They rustle the hay around and let out more soft coos. I say, "Night Night. See y'all in the morning." As I am walking back to the house I am hyperaware of my surroundings. The sounds of the farm are especially loud, the croaks of the frogs fill the night like an orchestra. It's such a beautiful sound. I linger outside a little longer talking to our cats, taking it all in before I say goodnight and head to bed myself.