Counting Sheep –
There is a small picket fence that surrounds the garden courtyard of the house where I am staying. Inside of the gate there is a narrow walkway, a bit of grass, around the fence edges are flowering plants. It had been dry in Scotland prior to my arrival, but with the recent rain, her plants have drank their fill and are now blooming – I arrive on Iona to the opening of the yellow iris, and fuchsias. Iris Pseudacorus - Yellow Flag, happens to be my favorite. Fuchsias were my grandmother’s flower. I think of her watering her oversized hanging baskets, spilling over red and purple fuchsias onto her Lanai. These fuchsias are a paler wilder sort. First morning, sunrise (cloud rise) about 4:15 a.m. I awaken to a flock of sheep just below my window. They are making quite a racket. Pressed up against the fence, they all seem to be bleating yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, let us in so we can eat those flowers, that is what I suspect they are thinking. I look out at them, giving them a stern – you know you woke me up, don’t you? sort of look, which only makes them louder – yeah, yeah, yeah… a chorus of, I count, 22 sheep. Feeling my gaze, they look up, yeah, yeah, yeah… give me a good stare back, then mosey off to the front field and get completely silent. In numerology, the number 22 is considered to be a master number - the most powerful of all numbers, indicating the ability to turn lofty dreams into realities. It is confident, pragmatic, ambitious and disciplined. Well, the sheep certainly are confident when grouped together, I can attest to that. It is back to bed for me (that is the pragmatic part – I need a good sleep). I nod off quickly and dream of flying sheep, pursing their lips that rattle as they bleat – yeah, yeah, yeah. A few hours later I wake up again, this time the sun is shining, the sheep still in the front meadow, still completely silent, one of them looking up at my window.